


Green

by mitsuboo



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dark Comedy, F/M, First Love, Mystery, Romantic Tension, Slow Burn, Sneaking Around, azure moon route with a few twists and turns, byleth and Dimitri are the same age, dimileth finally meet each other in chapter 8 if you want to skip ahead, headcanons, hidden identities and a lot of bad lying, nabatean family fluff, silly teenagers pining after each other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:41:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 55,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25999186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitsuboo/pseuds/mitsuboo
Summary: With Jeralt never having left Garreg Mach, Byleth Eisner grows up under Rhea's tutelage, destined for a future she knows nothing about. Rhea is incredibly protective of her and rarely allows her to leave the Monastery walls. At the age of 17, Byleth begins to sneak out at night, and meets Dimitri. With his insomnia, and her need for freedom, the two wander the halls of Garreg Mach together, uncovering the secrets of his past, and her future.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 63
Kudos: 155





	1. Thirteen

_I swallow the sound and it swallows me whole 'til there's nothing left inside my soul,_

_I'm as empty as that beating drum_

* * *

Sitri Eisner died on the happiest day of her life. 

Because that was just the kind of card the universe liked to deal her. 

She held Byleth in her arms like a doll, quietly staring down at the small, serene face of the girl. She had been wrapped in a cloth blanket that was far too big for her tiny frame, with her dark tuft of hair pushed back against her skull. To any onlooker, Byleth looked sound asleep, and nothing like a newborn child. She wouldn't even make a peep. 

Sitri frowned as she nestled the child into the crook of her arm. Her eyes drooped with exhaustion, coupled with the beads of sweat forming on her forehead. "Can you do anything for her?"

Rhea pursed her lips, "No... No, Sitri, I've tried every spell I have," she spread her hands out, gloved and messy from helping Sitri give birth, but Rhea didn't seem to mind, she never did, "I cannot bring her back from the dead, my love."

My love, my love. Sitri looked down at Byleth's closed eyes. _Her_ love. She had one of her own. 

A knowing smile played on her lips, "Don't act as if I don't know what I am, mother," she put her free hand to her chest, and looked up to Rhea, "I _know_ what can be done."

"That... would kill you. Are you prepared for that?"

"I know," a whispered secret, one Jeralt didn't even know, "But I'm already dying anyway. I don't... Just don't let Jeralt be alone, okay?"

The baby, dead in her arms, did not reply. Rhea put a hand on Sitri's chest and sighed. She could not argue with the woman any further, she could not convince her otherwise. Rhea could bring _everybody_ back besides her mother, even this still child who didn't breathe. 

"I'll miss you, my love."

Sitri smiled, full and wide, as she did on the day of her wedding just one year prior. This was the happiest, the most terrifying, moment of her life. 

"I'll miss you too, I'll miss everybody," she gulped through her dry throat, eyes heavy, mouth feeling like cotton as her time drew near, "Tell Jeralt I love him, okay? And tell Byleth, when she's older... tell her that I loved her too."

"I will... I promise."

* * *

Byleth opened her eyes just minutes later. The flash of light was gone. Rhea's hands were covered in blood, humming with magic. She scowled as Byleth turned her head to look up at her. 

"I'm getting tired of doing this," she picked up the bundle wrapped child, ignoring the corpse of her adoptive daughter on the bed, "I didn't _mean_ for you to be next, you know. But, as per Sitri's wishes," she held Byleth up in the air and sighed, heart heavy with grief.

"Welcome to the world, thirteen."

* * *

**Several Weeks Later**

Jeralt had tried to escape Garreg Mach at least three times now. It really was getting to be quite ridiculous. 

He felt like a madman, and he was sure that he looked the part as well. Tired eyes, messy hair and two day old clothes, the image of a stressed new father completed by the lit torch in his hand. He approached the silk curtain hanging from the window. It was one of the only things that would catch fire easily inside of the stone Monastery. He could imagine the flames licking up the material, then jumping to the next curtain, then to the strategically placed pile of books, and to the cheap, highly flammable rug on the floor. The flames would spread, and they would go unnoticed until they finally ate through the wooden door and caught the tapestries in the hallway. From there, it would travel down the corridors and catch the oil he smeared across the walls and on the ground. It would grow larger and larger. 

And he would be gone. Byleth would be safe. And he could sleep with both eyes closed for once. 

His daughter slept in the crook of his arm like a doll. She could’ve been dead, with how cold and still she remained. It was unnatural for a baby to be so quiet, though he supposed other parents would call him fortunate for having a child that never cried. He couldn’t bring himself to agree. In his other hand he held the lit torch, and lowered it to the curtain ever so slowly. It caught the edge, and reflected golden in his wide eyes. His stomach churned nervously at the sight.

Something nagged in the back of his mind, reminding him of his current circumstances, of the world and it's dangers, of Byleth and her oddities. Jeralt was a fly caught in a spider’s web, and he knew that the spider was growing irritated with his constant escape attempts. If Byleth didn't cry, Jeralt would do it enough for them both.

On the other end of the hallway of the third floor of the Monastery, Seteth stood in Rhea’s room with the posture of a man holding his opinions back by a thin thread. His scowl spoke a thousand words, though all he said was, “He’s doing it again.”

It was explanation enough. Rhea grimaced to herself in the darkness of the night. She sat on her balcony in the wicker chair, under the silver moonlight, with her hair braided and thrown over her shoulder. Her white night dress made her look ghostly, and protected nothing against the cold. Yet, she didn’t shiver. She only sat ominously still and stared ahead into nothingness. Seteth watched, unfazed by the odd stillness of his 'cousin'.

Her manicured nails tapped against the arm of her chair, “What’s he done this time?”

Seteth’s hands wrapped tighter around each other, holding himself together, “My sources say that he’s planning to start a fire. He bought out all the oil from the shops this morning.”

She frowned to herself, “How destructive... I trust you to handle this as you will.”

A good decision on her part, yet he couldn’t help but frown at the admission. If Seteth handled it in the way he willed, then Jeralt would be able to leave. He wouldn’t keep a man trapped in constant paranoia the way Rhea insisted. Yet, he knew her trusting him meant that she trusted he follow _her_ rules, the way _she_ wanted.

He would just follow her rules in his own way.

Wordlessly, he turned and left her room. Rhea’s silhouette in the moonlight grew still with heavy thought once more, and he cast her a hesitant glance as he opened the door and stepped into the hallway. Frowning heavily, he stepped back and shut the door behind him - shutting her eyes away. 

Rhea, her kind, _his_ kind, were always odd. There was something off about them, yet the average human wouldn’t notice it unless they knew what they were looking for. Having lived among humans for years, he had learned to move and breathe and speak in a way that wasn’t unsettling to them, yet Rhea didn’t seem very interested in blending in as he was. She was far too graceful, her eyes far too deep, and her posture far too still. He supposed that it made the beautiful, worshipped Archbishop caricature more authentic for the humans. Nobody noticed anything other than her sheer holy, _Archbishop-ness_.

Except for Jeralt. He noticed. He was far smarter than he looked. Seteth could smell the smoke wafting down the hall now. 

Sighing, he began his walk into the chaos that was destined to happen. It felt as if he’d been doing this all week, and it _really_ was beginning to get ridiculous. Just two days ago, Jeralt had been found stealing a horse from the stables, with Byleth strapped to his chest in some odd sort of baby carrier. He made it to Remire before the Knights caught up with him, thinking that they were following their Captain on some secret mission. Jeralt had no choice but to turn back, child in hand. 

Two days before _that_ incident, he had knocked out a guard at the gates and stolen his armor. He put the silent and still Byleth into a cart of hay and acted as if he was doing deliveries. Seteth sent Alois to loudly, obliviously, ask Jeralt why he was dressed up and sneaking out, right in front of everybody in the marketplace. He had no choice but to turn back and act like it had never happened.

And two days before that, he had tried to forge a letter from King Lambert, requesting for Jeralt to return and help his Kingdom out. He was packed up and ready to take his daughter away, when Seteth received an _actual_ letter from the real King, and it mentioned nothing of Jeralt. He knew he was caught, and returned to his room with a scowl that could kill. 

He was getting smarter, though, and he had learned. Seteth shook his head and covered his mouth as he waved the black smoke away. The flames had moved quickly throughout the abandoned room, and were licking their way out the door and to the hallway. 

Seteth approached, feet moving faster. He kicked the hallway runner aside so the flames wouldn’t catch it and eat it up as well. The fire was far larger than he thought, and threatening to claw at his throat and fill his lungs. He lifted the collar of his shirt to cover his mouth and nose. Soldiers rushed up the stairs and burst into the hallway behind him, screaming, “Sir! You need to leave!”

“No,” he shook his head through the smoke, “I’ll be fine, just get a team together to put this out, hurry. Don’t let it reach Rhea’s room!”

Seteth had only been at the Monastery for a short four months, yet the soldiers knew to not argue with his commands. Nodding in affirmation, the group rushed away to gather water and volunteers. The fire was contained to the room, but it would soon crawl out and eat whatever was flammable. With the Monastery being built from stone, Jeralt had to have planned to give the fire something to catch onto. Seteth scanned the ground and the walls and the tapestries for the shine of oil, finding smudges and fingerprints trailing along the wall. 

With the smoke burning at his eyes, he followed the trail Jeralt had left. In the courtyard below, on the bridge, a crowd of students and priests began to gather at the entrance. Shouts of confusion rang up from the staircase and from behind closed doors. He could only hope that nobody would be trampled in their attempt to escape the building. 

He was glad that Flayn wasn’t there, he knew the fire would scare her. She would cry for his safety as he rushed through the smoke to catch the arsonist himself. He didn’t envy Jeralt’s silent child, who cried for nothing and nobody. She lay silently in his arms as Seteth turned the corner and found the Knight rushing towards the door. 

“Stop!” Seteth commanded, though his voice cracked with damage from the smoke. Jeralt only halted for a second and glanced over his shoulder, lips parted with shock and eyes wide with surprise. 

“How the hell-”

“You need to stop, Jeralt.” His scowl grew deeper as he slowed to a walk to approach the Knight. Begrudgingly, Jeralt obeyed, holding Byleth closer as if he was afraid she’d be ripped from his arms. 

Seteth thought of the people outside waiting to hear of the results of the fire, the panicked looks on their faces. He thought of the possibility of someone being trampled while trying to escape. He thought of Flayn and how fearful she’d be. Anger began to rise through his throat and to his lips, “This is out of hand, you’ve gone too far.”

“I needed a distraction,” Jeralt answered stiffly, though he made no attempt to run. He knew he’d been caught, as he had the last three times, “I don’t know what the hell is going on here-”

Around the corner and down the hall where the fire was growing, yells reached his ears. Seteth cocked his head as he picked up the sound of water splashing and sizzling against flames, while a mage conjured up a spell to assist in putting it out. They seemed to have the situation under control, from what his enhanced hearing could pick up, and he could finally talk some sense into the Knight Captain without the chance of the Monastery burning down.

“I suppose you think you deserve answers,” Calming down, Seteth fell into his usual posture, “but honestly, there are none.”

There are none. Jeralt had obeyed Seteth's command to wait because he thought there was hope for answers, he thought the Archbishop's assistant would give him something he hadn't gotten before. He was usually far more composed than this. He scowled, he fidgeted and shuffled. The bags under his eyes were far darker than usual, and he seemed to have taken on 30 years of his life. The grey of Jeralt’s eyes made him look steely and cold. His expression was set in stone as he stared at Seteth, “That’s not good enough.”

The man was already far older than any human should be, just as Seteth was - perhaps that was why he felt some sort of odd kinship with him. Both of them, far too old for their faces. “I imagine so,” he raised a brow, “it’s odd."

He held Byleth closer to his chest, though she made no sounds, “ _Odd_ is an under-exaggeration, asshole. This is screwed up.”

“I can’t say I agree with that.”

“You haven’t been in my position!” He was yelling now, stepping forward with wild eyes, “You haven’t been watched from every corner! You haven’t lost your wife and been given a corpse for a baby! I don’t know what Rhea’s planning, but I sure as hell don’t want anything to do with it!”

He hadn’t gotten much sleep, and Seteth was part of the reason why. Most of the eyes that watched Jeralt had been his own, in some form or another. He had spies in every inch of this academy. Guilt flicked at his heart, though he knew that Jeralt was under stress, and he truly knew nothing of the true situation. Grimacing, trying to keep himself under control, Seteth stared him down, “I’m a father as well, Captain. I’ve lost my wife too,” something like sadness caught in his throat and threatened to choke him, “I-I think I know at least a little of what you’re feeling.”

Jeralt didn’t miss a beat, “Then you _know_ why I’m leaving.”

“I don’t, actually…” Seteth sighed, “let’s go for a walk. We... need to sit down and think.”

It was obvious that he didn’t want to, yet something in him forced his compliance. Seteth walked past him stiffly while Jeralt followed, Byleth in his arms. He scowled the entire time, leaving the smoke behind while the soldiers dealt with the aftermath of the escape plan.

It was dark outside, and cold. Students and soldiers rushed past them, yet the men ignored the chaos and left it behind like an ugly memory. Smoke poured out of windows and reached for the sky with outstretched tendrils. They slipped past the crowd and made their way to the academy courtyard. 

It was empty that night. Most of the students were watching the fire, or asleep in their dorms. The grass was soft with melted snow under Seteth’s boots. He made his way to the benches outside of the commoner’s dorm rooms. Jeralt followed with silent suspicion. 

Once alone, Seteth opened his mouth to sigh. He was tired, far more than usual. “Frankly, as a father myself, I _don_ ’t understand why you want to leave.”

“That’s surprising,” he muttered from behind him, “I’d think you’d understand most of all.”

Seteth approached the benches, yet he didn’t sit. He simply stopped on the soft grass and turned around, hands clasping behind his back, “Where do you think you’ll go?”

“Anywhere, everywhere.”

“You’re smarter than this,” softly, he implored, “you know that we know that wasn’t an accident. You have to know that we’d look for you.”

A scowl, “I’m a fast runner.”

His eyes flickered down to the bundle in his arms, sleeping soundly with serenely closed eyes, “You’d make her live that life?”

“It’s better than whatever Rhea has planned!”

“Truthfully,” Seteth finally averted his eyes, “I don’t _know_ what she has planned.”

Jeralt nodded, "That’s exactly why I’m leaving.”

None of it made sense. Sitri passed away in labor, and only Rhea was there to see it. Seteth had stood beside Jeralt in the hallway and told him the story of Flayn's birth and how he fainted when he saw her coming out. But Flayn cried, Flayn screamed and writhed and acted like a baby. Byleth just stared.

It was unfair to say it, but Seteth wouldn't keep from speaking his mind. “You’re paranoid,” again, he looked at him and noted the haggard exhaustion on his face, “I know you haven’t been sleeping.”

Jeralt narrowed his eyes. 

“That’s my fault,” Guilt stung him once more, “I’ve been making my spies quite obvious, haven’t I? I suppose… you don’t deserve to live that way.” Under a microscope. Underneath the constant pressure of knowing his every move was reported back to someone.

Nobody deserved that. Jeralt had just lost his wife, and was being followed around as if he was a criminal. 

The smoke from the upper rooms of the Monastery had cleared, turning to white. They had put the fire out, though Seteth was too far away to hear what had happened, as good as his ears were. Sighing in relief, he ran his hands through his hair in a rare show of casualty, while Jeralt only glared. “Rhea’s not evil, I promise you.”

“What did she do to Sitri?”

“I don’t know,” he answered truthfully, “but I know they loved each other, very dearly. They were best friends.”

“I know,” he answered coldly, “Rhea killed her own daughter and friend-”

“I don’t think she killed her, Jeralt.”

“What happened to my wife?” He looked down at Byleth, lips parted in exasperated shock, “What happened to my daughter? This isn’t normal.”

“I agree…” he had thought the same thing, being far more like Jeralt than he liked to admit, “but I must be honest with you, Captain...”

Students began milling back to their dorms, the excitement over with. They gave the men a wide girth, not wanting to feel Seteth’s wrath for being out past curfew. He ignored them as he searched Jeralt’s eyes for some semblance of logic through the exhaustion and stress. 

He’d prepared this conversation. He knew he wanted to catch Jeralt before one of his escape attempts was successful. He knew he needed to talk some reason into him. 

Licking his lips in well hidden nervousness, he began, “Byleth is far safer here, than she is on the run.”

Jeralt didn’t miss a beat, “She’s safest with me.”

“You can stay,” he allowed slowly, “I’ll pull my spies away, you won’t ever be watched again. You can live in peace here, settled down with your daughter. And we can make a deal, one that Rhea doesn’t have to know about.”

A deal, one that Rhea won’t have any knowledge of. Even _thinking_ those words felt wrong, yet his heart skipped in excitement nonetheless. His cousin, along with Flayn, was the only family he had left, it felt wrong to keep secrets from her. Yet, the look in Jeralt’s eyes, his sleeping child and his fear, he knew the feeling of losing a wife, and having a daughter to protect. 

Jeralt let Seteth’s words sink in. Slowly, he gulped, “What’re you thinking?”

“I am Rhea’s closest confident,” other than Sitri, though that ship had sailed weeks ago, “while she guards her secrets, I know more than anybody else here. I can give you answers to what Byleth is, and why this all happened.”

Byleth was human, that much was obvious. Seteth had inspected the child himself. Her ears were round and her eyes were blue, there were no green hairs sprouting from her head, and no scales running up her arms, no fangs - she had no teeth at this stage, but he was pretty sure her gums wouldn’t support dragon teeth. 

A normal, human, baby girl. A human with no pulse. He was pretty sure humans were supposed to have pulses. 

Jeralt seemed to be thinking the same thing. He held Byleth’s tiny wrist in his hand, his thumb pushing against her skin as if he was searching for something. His fingers moved to her neck, where they pushed in the same way. She stirred in his arms, but made no noises. Jeralt could only frown as he looked down at his daughter. 

“We can find answers,” Seteth whispered, stepping towards him and looking at Byleth curled up in his arm, “and she’ll be safe here, safer than anywhere else in Fodlan. I’ve seen how Rhea looks at her…”

“Like she’s the most beautiful thing in the world,” Jeralt muttered, “She looked at Sitri the same.”

And nobody knew why that was. A grandmother was doting, for sure, but reverental? Seteth found it odd, yet never questioned it the way Jeralt did. “She’ll never come to harm here. And perhaps we can find answers, Captain,” he laid a hand on his arm, an awkward attempt at comfort, “and she won’t have to grow up wondering why her heart doesn’t beat.”

Why she had no pulse, why she never cried, or why she never smiled. Even Nabatean children smiled. She was a truly unnerving baby, but a baby nonetheless. She didn’t deserve to be strapped to her father’s chest while he fought bandits in the middle of nowhere. 

Jeralt took a deep, steadying breath, “If she is ever… ever manipulated, or hurt, or in danger, I’m leaving. I’m leaving faster than you could blink.”

Seteth had no doubt that he would. He knew that Jeralt was smarter than this, smarter than his past escape attempts. There had to be something keeping him there in Garreg Mach, whether it be a need for answers or Sitri’s ghost. He had been hesitating in his escape, and Seteth’s deal had been the last nail in the coffin. 

He pushed the hood back from Byleth’s head and brushed her dark hair away. Jeralt’s stony expression cracked as he stared down at her, “I’ll protect her.”

“I know,” Seteth thought of Flayn, the thousands of years ago when she was a baby herself, “I’m on your side.”

And he was, he meant every word of it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I try my best to be as canon compliant with little details as I possibly can. Here are a list of general details and facts that have been changed for the sake of this story!
> 
> \- Byleth is 17-18, born in 1162, in the Pegasus moon (February), this makes her two months younger than Dimitri
> 
> \- The plot of the game is the same, but Byleth doesn't take as much of a place in it as in canon. She's not a professor, and she's not guiding the entire class. So, a lot of that falls to Dimitri, who will be influenced by Byleth, and by the time the second act comes around she'll have more of a role with the rest of the blue lions.
> 
> \- in canon Seteth arrives in Garreg Mach in 1162, and by then Jeralt already started the fire and had left (the year having been 1159). In this fic, Seteth still comes to Garreg Mach in 1162, and Byleth is also born in 1162, making the events with Jeralt and Sitri happen then as well.
> 
> \- Flayn will come to Garreg Mach in 1176, rather than 1179
> 
> \- Byleth’s emotions and responses are kinda supported by canon, but also kinda my own headcanon. It’s a mix of the two. I’ll just give her more of a sense of humor and more vibrancy a little later in the story
> 
> \- I would like to stay as close to the actual geography and surroundings as shown in the game, but sometimes there will be like extra rooms and buildings and objects that aren’t shown in the game, just for the sake of writing.
> 
> \- There will be a lot of Nabatean headcanons here, and...
> 
> \- There are also headcanons about Faerghus. I take inspiration from Scandanavian culture, and from Celtic culture, like a mix of that, and there will be a big focus on Faerghus and it’s society, and yes most of it will be headcanon. I’m not going to change anything that’s canon, though, I’m just going to fill in the blanks with my own theories and thoughts.


	2. Byleth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually edited this after publishing it, I had scenes from Dimitri's childhood written in, but I didn't feel like I could really make that a part of the story when I'm not writing this from Dimitri's point of view very much. I had trouble moving onto the next chapter because I felt like I had to keep that tone of switching between their childhoods back and forth, but that's really not what I want to do. So I erased them, and might stick them in here later at a time that it works better. 
> 
> Anyway, not much has changed if you read this before the edit, I just connected some scenes and took out some things. Nothing important!  
> I really should just write a whole story before I publish, I just get so eager to share it...

_Sleep through the things that couldn't have been_

_if you hadn't have been_

* * *

In her opinion, Byleth grew up rather normally. 

“Come here! Walk over to Rhea!”

Absolutely normal. 

Two of the most powerful people in Fodlan - the Archbishop and the strongest Knight known - continued begging for her attention on their knees. She knew nothing of the oddities of the situation, nothing of power, and nothing of rivalries. She knew nothing of politics, or even Fodlan itself. In fact, she knew very little.

She was a baby, after all.

The sight of the Archbishop on her knees, in the middle of her ‘throne room’ - she didn’t like calling it that, but it had a throne and it _was_ a room - holding open her arms with the widest grin she could muster, was a sight very few would ever see. It was a sight made far more odd by the presence of the man next to her, also on his knees, patting his legs as if trying to coax a dog to him, "Byleth, come on over here! You know you want to."

Byleth was not a dog. She only looked at her father patting his thighs as if to question, ‘really?’. In her humble, toddler opinion, she was far too intelligent too approach Jeralt. Also, she was far too intelligent to approach Rhea as well, the chest piece she wore always pushed into her cheek and hurt when they hugged. Byleth could not have that marring the experience of her first steps.

No. Byleth, aged 10 months with a tuft of dark hair on the top of her head and dried drool on her cheek, would not walk to either of them. She simply refused to. 

Sothis stood behind Rhea with crossed arms. She was floating off the ground, with one brow raised and a scowl on her lips. Byleth stared at her with wide eyes, yet the ghost girl only scoffed in disgust. "Don't even think about it, brat."

So, it was decided. Byleth would walk/crawl/stumble to the invisible, green haired girl floating behind the Archbishop. She pushed herself up from the cold marble ground of the throne room. Rhea squealed and shook her hands in anticipation, “Come here, my love!"

“Hey,” Jeralt snapped, “She’s _my_ daughter.”

“Oh, but she loves her grandmother,” Rhea sent him a soft, reprimanding glance, “it’s only natural if she decides to come to me.”

Seteth, standing at a distance with crossed arms, sighed, “Can we please refrain from having this fight _again_?”

Byleth, being a simple 10 months old, had zero interest, or understanding, of the argument taking place in front of her. Oblivious, she took one hesitant step, and then another to follow. Jeralt watched with proud eyes, while Rhea gasped. 

Her legs were incredibly wobbly - and chubby, they were Rhea’s favorite spot to tickle - and decided to give out under her after just two uncertain steps. Yet, Byleth was not the type to give up, she took after her father in that way. Determined, she flattened her palms and pushed herself up to stand tall once more.

Sothis sighed in defeat. She knelt down to receive Byleth with open arms, knees phasing through the floor. She knew she wouldn't be able to touch her, to be felt, but to refuse the toddler of her first steps was not a meanness she was capable of. Faking an excited smile, she awaited her with open arms, “Come’re, you little brat!”

Byleth knew 'brat' as her nickname and nodded in a very serious way, as serious as a baby could possibly look - which wasn’t very serious at all. Rhea and Jeralt pulled back from their argument and their desperate coaxing to watch as Byleth stumbled right past them, to _something_ past them. 

“We’re over here, kid,” he called out, ignored by his daughter. He watched as she stretched out her little arms as if trying to grab something, though all she held was empty air. “It’s as if she sees something we don’t,” he muttered to Rhea.

She offered a reassuring, soft smile. Her shoulders straightened once more into her elegant, Archbishop pose, “Who knows what goes on in a child’s head?”

It simply didn’t occur to Byleth that nobody else could see Sothis. It didn’t occur to Byleth that Sothis didn’t have a physical body and couldn’t touch her, or hold her, or catch her when she stumbled over her own feet once more. So, Byleth fell to the ground, face first. Her head bonked against the hard marble, and she frowned. It stung, harder than anything she'd ever felt, but no tears came. Sothis floated in front of her and watched with a grimace that said more than she could possibly articulate. 

Jeralt rushed to his baby’s side. He picked her up, expecting a scream and some tears, desperately _wanting_ screaming and tears, _hoping_ and _praying_ that his daughter would finally give him something, _anything_. 

And she didn’t. She just frowned. She didn’t seem to even _notice_ her father holding her, and only stared ahead of her, frowning at something he couldn’t see. 

“I’m sorry,” Sothis whispered to the baby, “I can’t catch you when you fall, little one.”

Byleth, being a baby and all, didn’t understand that. She merely frowned deeper. Jeralt stood up with her hanging off his waist and sighed, “I think it’s time for bed.”

Rhea clasped her hands and stood far more gracefully than Jeralt did. Her hair lay over her shoulders in a loose, unmade wave, a fashion that she would never show during business hours. Time with Byleth was for Rhea, the woman, not Rhea the Archbishop. She offered a smile more familial than most would ever see, “She took her first steps, Jeralt, don’t you think we should celebrate?”

“It’s not like she’ll remember it,” he scoffed and looked down at the baby on his waist, her chubby arms wrapping around his neck, “why waste time on it?”

If Rhea ever allowed herself to pout, it would be then. She frowned and looked away, though her chin was held high, “You never allow any celebrations for her, you should treasure your child, Jeralt.”

“Just because I don’t take every opportunity to throw a party doesn’t mean I don’t treasure her,” he pulled his braided ponytail from Byleth’s mouth as he spoke, it was covered in baby drool then, “It’s not as if you’d even invite anyone, Rhea.”

Seteth sighed from the corner once more. The arguments were getting old. “Please, not again.”

Rhea’s frown grew deeper. Her back straightened and her hands laced together, “I have my reasons. You know that.”

“Doesn’t mean I understand ‘em,” he scoffed, “You know what happened today? I had those brats from the orphanage knocking on my door asking to play with her, they heard there was a baby here and wanted to see her. You know what I had to tell ‘em?”

The orphanage had a few toddlers, older than Byleth but still close enough to be around her. The older kids were insanely curious about the mysterious baby in the Monastery, though all they caught were glimpses. The adults saw even less of her. Rhea sighed and closed her eyes, “I can only imagine-”

“I had to tell 'em to leave. Byleth was in her crib, standing up and staring right at them. All she could have was a little wave from the kids, and nothing else. She couldn’t be a normal kid for even _one_ _minute_.”

Rhea’s mouth tightened. Her eyes dropped and she looked away, raising her chin once more. She was on the defensive, and Jeralt had cracked a hole in her wall. 

“I know you care about her,” he hoisted Byleth up higher on his waist, “and I’m no expert, but I’m pretty sure she needs to see other kids around her age. Maybe she looks at things that aren't there because all the friends she has are _imaginary_."

"She's a _baby_ , Jeralt," Rhea snapped, "They do weird things. Sitri was the same way."

He froze. Byleth chewed on his hair, oblivious to the hit her father had been blown. Guilt flashed across the Archbishop's face before she allowed a sigh, her chest heaving up and down slowly. She closed her eyes and rubbed the bridge of her nose.

Jeralt felt like his chest was on fire, "Sitri wasn't like this."

He hadn't seen her as a baby. He hadn't raised her, Rhea _did_. She simply shook her head, “We will talk about this later. It’s late."

He knew what that meant, She was done with this conversation, and he would get nothing from her. Sighing in defeat, he turned to leave. “Fine, but we _will_ continue this discussion.” 

Jeralt’s boots were heavy against the floor as he made his way to the door. The throne room was far too big in his opinion, it took too long to get to one end from the other, and the doors were intimidating in their huge glory. He pushed them open, listening to the complaining of the hinges. Byleth was chewing on his ponytail once again. The Archbishop watched him go with pursed lips. Her hard expression melted into concern, while Seteth approached her shoulder. He laid a familial hand on her, while her own smaller hand covered his. 

“Rhea, I do believe…” he tended to be careful with his words when speaking to his cousin, “a baby needs socialization, don’t you think?”

“A _normal_ baby, yes,” she refused to look at him, “Byleth is under different circumstances.”

“She’ll still be safe if we let her see the kids at the orphanage-”

“No,” the Archbishop voice, heavy and self-righteous, slipped from her mouth. She glanced at Seteth with hard eyes, “She will stay inside, where it’s safe, where nobody can hurt her.”

A beat of silence. Seteth felt stiff, stuck in place by his cousin’s accusing and commanding eyes. He looked away to avoid them, “Yes, Archbishop. Understood.”

Byleth, being not even a year old yet, really didn’t understand any of this. She didn’t understand the frown on her father’s face, and why her constant chewing on his hair didn’t cheer him up - it usually did. She didn’t understand Sothis floating next to her with a grim expression. 

Not that Byleth knew what ‘grim’ meant. But she knew a frown. She knew a sad face. She tugged at her father’s hair and stuck the braid even deeper into her mouth. 

He sighed and tilted his head to pull it from between her gums, “Are you teething, kid?”

She had no way to answer that, but her gums did hurt. He continued to walk down the hall, to his room where her crib lay. “I think I have a broken dagger hilt you can chew on somewhere. That’ll be nice, huh?”

Byleth only burped in reply. Next to her, Sothis rolled her eyes and groaned, “That’s gross!”

Jeralt could only snort as he opened the door to his room. He set Byleth down in her crib, but she stood immediately and leaned on the railing. He watched her with his hands on his hips, “At least you burp well, even if you don’t cry.”

“Yeah,” Sothis floated closer to the crib and eyed the child with interest, though Jeralt could not see her, “I wonder why. You’re pretty weird, huh?”

Byleth made a grab for a green tendril of hair. The ribbons wrapped around her braids always fascinated the child, but Sothis pulled back. It wasn’t as if Byleth’s tiny fingers would make any contact, yet Sothis liked to pretend. It was all she _could_ do. Curious, Jeralt watched as his daughter reached for nothing. Her hands grasped only air, and her impassive, blank expression fell into a simple frown. She merely looked confused.

“What do you see that I don’t, kid?”

Byleth blinked. She had no answer for him.

“Aren’t you supposed to be trying to talk by now?”

Byleth stared.

“I’ve never heard a sound,” he leaned in closer, heart dropping from his chest with grief, “all you do is fart and sleep.” And walk, as of late, though she tended to crawl _away_ from him rather than into his arms.

Byleth, once again, had no response for him. She merely blinked, eyes seeming too big for her chubby face. 

Sothis watched, as she always did. It was all she _could_ do. Her lips fell into a frown, and her brows furrowed. Byleth yawned silently and pulled away from the edge of the crib to lay down. It truly was late, though Jeralt never kept her to a specific bedtime. He got more sleep than a new parent should, as Byleth never cried. If she did wake up in the night, she simply stared at the ceiling in her unnerving way.

She was a perfect baby, by human standards at least. She never cried. She never made a sound. She fell asleep instantly. She ate so well. She never made messes. 

Jeralt was falling apart. Sothis didn’t need to be around him all the time to see that. She sighed heavily, though she knew he couldn’t hear her. Perhaps that was the crime in it all, her lack of ability to truly apologize, whether she had meant for this to happen or not.

“I’m so sorry, Jeralt," she whispered, floating towards him while he patted Byleth's sleeping form, "I think it’s _my_ fault she's like this.”

Of course, Jeralt didn’t hear a word of the much needed apology. He never did. 

As the child grew, so did the reputation surrounding her. Byleth spent most of her days sitting in the Archbishop’s office while Jeralt worked. She never made a sound, leaving Rhea to do her paperwork and reading in peace. Anybody who entered to speak to the Archbishop had to handle having Byleth’s eyes boring into their back the entire time. 

Rhea remained happily oblivious to any discomfort from her subordinates. It was known that she was perceptive enough to see the shuffle of their feet, and the sweat on their brow, yet she continued to politely ignore it all.

When they left her office, she sent Byleth a doting smile. She would pick her up from her place on the rug, and hold her on her hip. It was as natural as motherhood could be, and something Rhea was entirely familiar with - despite never giving birth herself. 

And when she knew that she was truly alone, that was when she would search. 

“Mother?”

Green eyes stared into dark blue. Byleth only offered a slow blink in response, as she always did. Rhea held the baby above her head, letting her dangle in the air. She said nothing, and made no noise. Her little hand clenched into a fist, then opened once more. 

Rhea had been sending Jeralt on more missions as Byleth grew older, manipulating her way into getting time alone with her. She moved Byleth’s crib into her room, and spent hours with the baby in her arms. She carried her around like a child would a doll. 

“Mother?” She whispered, “I’m here. Can you hear me?”

Byleth only blinked.

Rhea lowered her down into her lap and brushed back her hair, “Of course you can’t. You can’t even talk.”

If her mother was in there, she wouldn't be able to use her mouth, or her tongue or the baby teeth poking through her gums. Swiveling in her chair to face her desk, Rhea held Byleth in her lap. With one hand around her waist, and the other holding a quill, she scooted closer to her papers and began to write. “Do you want to help me do paperwork?"

The baby offered no answer. She just sat, staring into the distance. Rhea sighed and began to write her letter, “Lambert just had a baby too,” she told her, her voice light and airy, “He’s a few months older than you. I remember when Lambert was just a kid taking classes here.”

Absently, she buried her face into Byleth’s hair. It tickled at her cheeks and smelled of soap, Jeralt must’ve given her a bath before he left. Rhea’s hand halted in her writing as she took in Byleth’s scent, “You’re very good, do you know that? I quite like that you don’t cry.”

Yet, she couldn’t deny it’s oddness. Sitri had been the same way, and she had already lived out the weirdness of the situation when she was born all those years ago. Rhea was not surprised at all that Byleth had no normal reactions, she’d seen it all happen before. 

There was a possibility that she could be normal one day. She might love flowers, she might smile for someone. Sitri had broken free from the chains of her half-life, and Byleth had the ability to do the same. It would only be, though, if Rhea would allow it.

And she would not.

This was a second chance. She would not give Byleth the freedom that Sitri took advantage of. She would not allow _another_ Jeralt into her life. She would not lose her mother to humanity once more.

“I love you,” she whispered into her hair, “I really do.”

* * *

Byleth’s first word was ‘meat’. She pointed at a chicken drumstick while saying it. 

“Meat.” A child’s voice, so clear and high pitched. A small finger pointing straight at the bone in Jeralt’s hand. “Meat.”

He froze. He looked at his daughter in the high chair next to him. Her brows were furrowed, and mouth set into a straight line. She shifted her dark eyes to stare straight into his own, so intense, “ _Meat_.”

His heart skipped. Slowly, with his chest erupting into fireworks, and fingers shaking, he handed Byleth the chicken drumstick. 

She reached out to grab it with both hands. Her two teeth sunk into the chicken, and she ate in silence. Across from Jeralt, Seteth stared with wide eyes. 

Finally, Jeralt shrugged, “She’s got her priorities.”

* * *

Byleth was smart. Jeralt liked to think his parenting had something to do with that. He never spared a lesson, always teaching her. He wondered if her brain ever grew tired from the constant education she got.

He sat on the grass in front of Sitri’s grave. Byleth sat next to him on her knees, fiddling with a yellow flower she had found nearby. She looked bored, not matching her pink bow and frilly dress at all. Rhea always dressed her the complete opposite of how she acted. 

“By,” he began, hesitant, his chest heavy. He fiddled with the callouses on his palm while staring at Sitri’s gravestone. His daughter looked up at him, expressionless. “There are scary things in this world...”

She took a deep breath, then exhaled through her nose. Her chest rose and fell in the same way Rhea’s did when she was thinking, their mannerisms were far too similar for his taste. Flickering her eyes to him, she gave him a short nod. “Yes.”

That was all he would get. Grimacing, he forced himself to go on, “Sometimes they’re monsters. Sometimes they’re people. And sometimes they’re responsibilities.”

He paused, while she furrowed her brows and squinted. Confusion, and irritation were the main two emotions she always showed, “What is that?”

“Responsibilities?”

She nodded.

“Oh, they’re stuff we do. Stuff we _have_ to do, for whatever reason.”

“Ah… Like drinking.”

“Uh, yes,” he rubbed the back of his neck. What kind of image did this kid have of him? “Like my drinking. But also, _you_ have responsibilities too.”

She nodded and closed her eyes - another mannerism she had gotten from Rhea. “So _I_ must drink.”

“What? No, no! There are _other_ responsibilities than drinking!” This was aside from the fact that drinking was _not_ a responsibility in the first place. “Listen, kid, this is serious.”

She knew what serious meant, she was a very intelligent five year old after all.

“Rhea wants you to join her, uh… cult.” He nodded, enjoying his own terminology, “You’re pretty special, you know, and… Well, truth be told, I’m too far in to get you out of this.”

She didn’t know what _that_ meant. “I don’t understand.”

“You know how you never get to play with other kids?” He waited for her nod before going on, “Well, that’s because you’re different, in a good way, of course, but still different. Seteth doesn’t think I should tell you this, but I don’t see the point in lying to you about it. You’re different.”

Byleth wasn’t lying when she stared up at him, lips parted and brows furrowed, “I know.” She’d known as long as she could begin comprehending the world around her, though she didn’t care too much, “How am I different?”

“You’ll be training with Rhea from now on. You’ll learn how to fight, how to read. You’ll learn about history,” he put a hand on her cheek, “you’ll learn about yourself, hopefully. And when you’re older, you’ll be at Rhea’s right hand.”

“Doing what?”

It was the one thing he wished he could truly answer, “I’m not sure. She just said it depends on what happens. You might be like your mother,” he cast a glance to her headstone in front of them, buried in the grass and overgrown with vines, “you might turn out normal after all. Or… well, I don’t know.” Angry, now, he pulled away and sighed, “I don’t know, kid.”

It sounded nice to be like her mother, yet it didn’t sound nice to be normal. Her father and Rhea spoke of her ‘differences’ so lovingly, Rhea moreso. She felt special to be different, and didn’t know why it was such a problem for everybody else around her. Perhaps she unnerved them, yet they had to know that that wasn’t her intention. 

“Okay,” she stood from her spot in the grass and cast aside the crushed flower she had been fiddling with, “I’ll do my best.”

What that meant, Jeralt wasn’t entirely sure. He held her small hand in his own while she stood next to him, “If anything happens that makes you unhappy, or hurts you, then tell me. No matter how much Rhea wants you to keep it secret, I need to know. Never, _ever_ , keep anything from me.”

She nodded. She knew this conversation, they had it nearly every day. It was drilled into her head to never keep secrets from her father, not that she wanted to. 

He offered a tired smile, one that she couldn’t tell was fake or not. “Have you been having those dreams still?”

Another daily conversation that they had. She nodded, “Yes.”

“Did you tell Rhea too?”

“Yes.” She wasn’t supposed to, but she always did. Little did Jeralt know, Rhea had the same conversation every day with Byleth that he did. The same assurance that she must come to her for everything, for every dream, for _every thought_. Byleth found it quite tiring to have to tell two adults every day that she would never hide anything from them, it took a lot of her valuable time running back and forth between the two.

“Okay,” he grimaced, “well, what’s done is done, I guess. Come on kid,” he pushed himself up, joints aching and popping as he did, “let’s go back before someone sees us.”

“I’m not supposed to leave, you know,” she reprimanded as they walked, hand in hand, “I’m supposed to stay in the Monastery. Those are the rules.”

“Rules, shmulze. Live a little.”

“You’ll get me in trouble one day, father.”

“You’ll be fine,” he ruffled her hair, messing up the carefully placed pigtails Rhea had fixed that morning, “It’s not against _my_ rules. You can go wherever you want, in my opinion.”

“Rhea says your opinions are trash."

“Ah… Did she really say that?”

“Yes.”

Great. He sighed, “Well, if you want to go outside of that Monastery without me, I really don’t care, kid.”

“Okay,” she pursed her lips, brows furrowing in a flicker of uncertainty that only he could catch, “Would it... make you happy if I broke the rules?”

"If you broke Rhea's, yes."

"Then... I'll try my best."

A rueful smile graced his lips, "That's my girl."


	3. Moving Northwards

_I can't help but pull the earth around me to make my bed  
_

* * *

  
  


_Father,_

_I am bored._

_Love, Flayn._

  
  
  


To the point, blunt and naive. She had not changed in the last few years that she’d been by herself. Seteth pursed his lips. He set the parchment down and moved onto the next letter. 

  
  
  


_Father,_

_Do sharks ever need to bathe?_

_Love, Flayn._

  
  
  


He’d already explained the answer to her long ago, at least three times. Sighing, he set the parchment aside and moved on. 

  
  
  


_Father,_

_I am being slowly driven into madness from my solitude. I desire contact. I desire chocolate. I desire the warm hand of my father. I am bored._

_Sincerely, Flayn._

  
  
  


She had ended it with ‘sincerely’ this time, instead of ‘love’. She must’ve felt quite wild the day she wrote it. He moved onto the next letter, breaking the seal and unfolding the paper. 

  
  
  


_Father,_

_I am bored. I am bored. I am bored._

_Much Ado, Flayn._

  
  
  


She was bored, that much was evident. Moving on. 

  
  
  


_Father,_

_I am leaving Zanado to be married to a hunchback circus performer. We will swing on the tightrope of life together, and adopt a baby tiger for a child. I hope you like peanuts, because that is all I will ever serve when you visit. Circus peanuts._

_Gracious Goodbyes, Flayn._

  
  
  


Peanuts weren’t his favorite, but he could stand them if he had to. He moved onto the last letter. 

  
  
  


_Father,_

_I am so bored, please come get me._

_FLAAAAAYYYYNNNN_

_P.S. I love you!_

  
  
  


How sweet. 

Seteth glanced up at the postmaster, who wore a weary expression as he watched him read the letters, “She sent all of these within a week?”

“Yes sir, she kept calling our delivery boy back and forth. He’s very tired, sir.”

His dear daughter could be determined when she wished to be, and it was unfortunate that that happened to be all of the time. With a heavy sigh, he gathered the letters together and piled them into a neat rectangle, “I apologize for the trouble. My sister is very persistent, you see.”

“Your sister, sir?” A raised brow. Nobody had ever gossiped of the Archbishop’s assistant having a sister. It was rare for the townsfolk of Garreg Mach to not know the details of Seteth and Rhea's family lives - everybody assumed there were none, after all. Nobody questioned the way Seteth rubbed at his ring finger as if there used to be something there. 

“Yes,” he sighed, defeated, “she’ll be coming here soon, you’ll have a chance to meet her.”

Feigning disinterest, he raised a brow, “As long as my boys don’t have to deliver her thousands of letters no more, I’m happy.”

“I’m sure,” he carefully folded another letter and stuck it on top of the pile, “I’ll add a tip onto your payment this month.”

“Thank ya sir,” he tipped his hat, “So kind…”

Not as kind as he hoped he was. Seteth turned away to leave the post office, placed by the gate of the marketplace. He was rarely found in this side of the Monastery, though he often liked poking around the stores and seeing what they had to offer. He would never admit the power trip he got when the shopkeepers looked at him with fear in their eyes. He was far too old to care about such menial things such as positions, or power trips, or _taxes_. 

But truthfully, that was a lie. He _adored_ taxes. 

Nearly every day, the marketplace bustled with life. The sun shone above, and the dust kicked up like confetti under the feet of wanderers. It was a loud place, filled with vibrancy and life, shouts and bartering. Seteth was shocked to step out of the office and be hit in the face with the absolute tension in the air. Today felt very, very different. 

It felt as if a cloud had fallen over the people. Seteth let the door shut behind him as he took in the sight, the people with their furrowed brows and worried faces, the whispers that flew over his head. The boy that usually stood on a crate and shouted the news had taken a seat with his legs dangling hopelessly in front of him. He looked tired, as if he had just announced something that exhausted the energy from his young body. Seteth vaguely recalled hearing the boy shout from outside, but was far too invested in Flayn's letters to take much notice of the muffled news. 

Despite the amusing letters in his hand, and the sun happily shining above, he could feel the fear and dread creep into his stomach. Near him, in the battalion guild’s tent, the whisper that no human could hear from this distance, reached his ears and sunk into his chest. 

“Duscur… the King…”

He looked towards the tent. One recruit caught him staring with wide eyes, and quickly looked at the ground. Seteth approached stiffly, letters in hand and stiffly placed behind his back, “Do tell, why all the long faces? I'm afraid I've missed something."

The man staring at the ground was the first to speak up. The entire group seemed all too shaken by whatever mysterious cause had touched them all. “W-Well, sir… News just reached, didn’t you hear the boy telling everybody?" The boy sitting on the crate looking defeated, unwilling to divulge further. 

"Duscur," a whisper from across the marketplace that could only reach a Nabatean's advanced hearing, "those bastards." 

Seteth’s blood ran cold. He clenched his hand at his side, “Tell me what happened."

* * *

Sothis was invisible to all others, and Byleth had figured that out long ago. She was unheard by all others. And nobody, Byleth included, could feel her touch. They had tested this on many occasions, creeping out the local knights and nuns with her experiments. They would watch Byleth stare at a wall, moving her lips with whispers to absolutely nobody. And another rumor would spread. She had gotten quite the reputation by the age of eight. 

Now, at the age of 12, she was positively ostracized. She couldn’t really bring herself to care for the opinions of heavily clad holy people, though, and she was never even seen by the students of the Academy. She knew everybody in the upper levels of the Monastery, where business and the most important of tasks were carried out, and she found that she didn’t really care for their opinions either. Let alone their opinions of _her_. 

Even at this difficult age - everybody _said_ it was a difficult age, though she didn’t really think of herself as difficult - she was enamored with watching Sothis. She watched the ghost girl float around the room. She would do flips sometimes, and disappear, then reappear. She would hang upside down. She would lay back in the air as if in a hammock. As prideful as the girl could be, she seemed to get her amusement from Byleth watching her just as much as Byleth got from her in return. 

She found that when Sothis touched someone, they’d become very itchy. She wasn’t sure why. She’d try to research it, but no books ever spoke of anyone being itchy from the touch of a ghost. Perhaps that was common knowledge, and Byleth just hadn’t caught up yet. She wasn’t quite sure, but she never truly was. 

As odd as it was to be haunted by an invisible person, it had it’s uses. 

“They’re talking about your dad,” Sothis whispered, as if somebody other than Byleth could ever hear her. Her eyes flickered to two Knights standing in the corner of the large entrance hall, the ‘throne room’ where Seteth and Rhea’s offices resided. The Knights leaned closer to whisper to each other, a conversation that would’ve went unheard if not for Sothis floating near them, unknown. 

Byleth hummed, her chin resting in her palm. She imagined that she looked positively bored to the world, yet she was merely watching. She could hide her interest well. “What’re they saying?”

“His mission,” Sothis stretched her arms behind her head and yawned, “they’re wondering why he’s taking so long to get back.”

There could be a million reasons why. Their supplies cart could’ve broken, or they could be injured. They could simply be tired. Byleth was taught from an early age to never worry about her father. 

Sothis floated next to her, “I heard something about roads being shut down because of Duscur.”

That caught Byleth’s attention. She sat up, startling the female guard standing next to her. Usually, she whispered quietly enough to not be heard by anyone guarding her, and she tended to stay still. Now, with her suddenly jolting up in her seat and rapt to attention, the guard’s hand went to her belt immediately. 

Byleth sent her a quick glance, “It’s fine. Just… itchy.”

“Oh…” furrowed brows and a hesitant frown, “Okay, uh, no problem Lady Eisner.”

Byleth itched at her thigh to complete the lie, while her eyes scanned the rest of the room for anybody else passing secrets amongst themselves. Sothis floated towards a set of civilians waiting in line to see the Archbishop. 

The amount of civilians was much higher that day than usual. Most of them held worried expressions that ate at their ragged faces. Byleth only now noticed the length of the line, and the nervous shuffling of each person as they awaited their chance to tell Rhea their concerns. Sothis would have to hear something interesting from at least one of them. 

Duscur. Duscur. Wasn't that the country far North, on the cold coastline beyond the mountain ranges? She recalled learning of the political strife between Duscur and Faerghus just several weeks ago in her tutoring. She remembered her empathy for the people of Duscur, and her admiration for the King’s plans to make peace with them. Next to her, the female guard eyed her hesitantly, as if she was a bomb about to blow.

Sothis was taking far too long. Byleth sighed, and glanced at the woman tasked with watching over her, “Do you know of any recent news?”

A gulp from the Knight. Sothis glanced behind her and grimaced at Byleth across the room. The guard refused to meet her eyes, “Apologies… but I am surprised you don’t know yet.”

“There’s a lot I don’t know,” she sighed heavily, “Rhea and Seteth insist on keeping me out of the loop.”

To the average adult, that made complete sense. Byleth was only 12, and as unnerving and precocious as she was, it wouldn’t have been right to place a heap of responsibilities on her head at her tender age. Yet, in Byleth’s eyes, it was simply frustrating. 

The guard shuffled in place uncomfortably, “I don’t think I should be the one to tell you, Lady Eisner.”

How suspicious. Something akin to nervousness stirred in the pit of Byleth’s stomach, “Is that your personal decision, or a command from my grandmother?”

“G-Grandmother?”

“Rhea.”

“O-Oh… I am not obliged to tell you that, My Lady.”

Of course she wasn’t. They never were. 

Byleth knew that she looked like a brat, with how her chin fell back into her palm, and her lips straightening into a pouty line. She _felt_ like a brat as well. 

Her father had been gone for weeks then, and she was growing weary of spending time with Rhea and Seteth - her posture couldn’t take much more correction, she was about to snap. Jeralt had promised to take her fishing after he got back, and that was supposed to be a week ago. 

It was as if the adults thought she didn’t have ears. She could hear perfectly. She could hear her guard turning her face away and muttering ‘weird kid’ under her breath. Byleth chose to ignore it, and instead watched as Sothis floated across the room and back towards her. 

The ghostly girl’s lips were set into a heavy grimace. “It’s bad. I’m sorry.”

She wasn’t entirely used to the feeling of nervousness striking her like lightning. The speed, and the power behind the feeling, coursed through her limbs, spreading from her heart and rendering her throat dry. She tried her best to stay still, so the guard wouldn’t be any more unnerved than she already was. 

“What happened?” It was a whisper, usually delivered far more quietly than her tongue would allow in that moment. 

“There’s been… Well, first of all,” Sothis held up a pale hand, “Your father is fine. The tragedy happened much farther up North than where he was.”

She sat up completely straight now, “Tragedy?” She didn’t bother to lower her voice. The sudden exclamation drew the shock of the guard once more, yet Byleth ignored her in favor of staring down Sothis. 

“Someone killed the King,” Sothis was rarely sad, the look on her face was unnatural for her demeanor, “There was this whole assassination plot in Duscur. The people are just wondering what’s next for Fodlan - looking for comfort in Rhea, I guess.”

Byleth wished she could be with that line of civilians. She wished she could stand with them and join their cloud of worries, to be a part of that crowd and find comfort in multitudes.

It was difficult for a preteen to imagine the death of an entire family, and the repercussions that it would bring. Yet, she imagined that it was difficult for an adult as well. Guilt flooded her stomach at her realization that she was _relieved_. Relieved that her father was safe, and simply late because of the road closures. 

Yet, here in this huge room full of worried people and rumors floating above her head, she felt suffocated. Standing from her spot in the corner, she sent a fakely disinterested glance to her guard, “I’d like to go to my room now."

“Oh, yes of course!” The guard allowed a sigh of relief that her job was almost done, and she would be free of the odd girl. Byleth could imagine the newest set of gossip that would come from the mill now, about the 12 year old ‘grandchild’ of the Archbishop who spoke to herself in the middle of a crowded room, when nobody paid her the slightest bit of attention. The rumor would spread, she imagined, in the most ridiculous of ways. How she spat out words and stared at nothing in front of her.

She was glad, for once, to be alone and away from the crowd of people. It was simply suffocating. 

* * *

Even a day later, Byleth felt the tragedy of Duscur in every corner of the Monastery - at least every corner that she was allowed to visit. 

She couldn’t wait for her father to come back. He was sure to say something inspired about the tragedy, something other than her guards whispering rumors above her head, thinking that she couldn’t hear. They spoke as if she was deaf, knowing full well that she was not. 

If it wasn’t the guards, it was the priests. If it wasn’t the priests, it was the nuns. They all knew Byleth, and knew that she had perfectly working ears, and knew that she comprehended words. Perhaps they didn’t comprehend how a child who never smiled could ever understand true empathy for a fallen Kingdom. 

Whatever it was, it was annoying. 

She tended to ignore them after the third or fourth outrageous rumor. It was tiring to hear about the death and destruction of the royal family every second of the day, and she had no idea how they kept talking about it every chance they got. She felt bad for wanting to filter out the gossip and conversation about the tragedy, yet she needed to, for her own sanity above all else. 

And finally, after all of the civilians went home, Seteth and Rhea asked to speak to her like two parents disciplining their child. It might as well have been, with how she was sat down next to Flayn, watching Seteth pace in front of the fireplace and Rhea twiddle her hands in her lap. It was positively familial, a sweet picture of domesticity. 

“I don’t understand,” as Byleth rarely did with anything that happened outside of the Monastery walls, “what _really_ happened?”

“A political assassination, By,” Seteth answered slowly, “Someone killed the King of Faerghus.” 

Rhea sent him a quieting look, though he ignored her eyes lingering on him. Jeralt always told Byleth the truth, no matter how hard it may be. Seteth found himself doing the same when Jeralt was not around. 

Rhea sighed and held Byleth’s hands in her own, something she did often. “It’s very mature of you to try and understand, my love. But there’s no need, don’t force yourself."

“I’m not forcing myself,” her voice was small, “I just want to know why someone would murder a good man.”

A good man who just wanted peace. A good man who protected his country. A good man who was known to love his family more than anything. Byleth had heard about King Lambert and all that he had done, she was always a fan, though she'd never met him. Silence was the only response she earned for her speculation. Flayn sat next to her with her hands folded in her lap, and head down. She opened her mouth to reply, but no answer came. Byleth looked around the room for anybody willing to give her something plausible, something understandable. 

Rhea, thankfully, was always up to bat. She had raised children before - never her own - and answering difficult questions was an art she'd cultivated through her years of sheparding a religious congregation. It worked wonders for the most curious of young ones. “Sometimes people are bad, and sometimes they kill Kings that are good.”

She didn't miss a beat, “That’s not a very good answer.”

Rhea refused to falter, “You’ll understand when you’re older, my love.”

“I don’t think I will.”

The Archbishop's smile was genuine. She leaned in towards Byleth and pushed a hair behind her ear, fingers brushing against the soft, white petals of the lily braided and pinned against her head, “You have such a mind for justice, Byleth.”

“I don’t know what that means either.”

Another soft smile, “It means that you value righteousness. It means that you see the world and it’s evil.”

Seteth certainly _hoped_ that she didn’t see the world and it’s evil. Byleth was like a second daughter to him, looking only a few years younger than Flayn herself. He hoped that she wouldn’t ever face the world’s evil head on. 

Yet, knowing Rhea, she’d find a way to make it happen. 

Flayn looked up from her lap to make hesitant eye contact with her father. There was no point in hiding her relation to Seteth around Byleth, who knew enough secrets about the Archbishop and her kind to stun any normal person. At 12, she was rather good at keeping secrets, having secrecy drilled into her from the first moment she could comprehend such things. 

“What does this mean for Fodlan?” Flayn tilted her head in curiosity, “Should we do something for the Blaiddyd family?”

Byleth looked up in turn, “Was father truly far away from the tragedy, or is that only hear-say?”

“He was far away, don’t worry,” Rhea had sent him on another long mission, taking him away from her scion long enough to teach her _at_ _least_ another chapter of scriptures without his interjection. He would be back soon enough, back to influence Byleth in his rough ways. 

Seteth stole a glance at Flayn from his spot against his desk, on the other side of the room, “Fodlan will survive, as will Faerghus. It may be tumultuous for a while, perhaps we should refrain from sending the students on trips there.”

“Yes,” Rhea nodded slowly, “And we will send more supplies to the Western church as well.”

Byleth was not privy to many details - Seteth believed even _hearing_ of such violence might twist a young mind, though Byleth knew that he was just treating her like he did Flayn, so incredibly overprotective of her innocence. She knew of the fire, of the smoke that polluted the air for days after. She knew that the King had his head chopped off, and it sounded positively gruesome. She knew that the Queen simply disappeared, but was pronounced dead, her body most likely heavily burned. 

She knew that King Lambert was on his way to Duscur to make peace, something the Duscurians wanted so desperately. It was something they _needed_. Why would they ruin that for themselves?

“It just doesn’t sound right.”

Seteth looked up from his parchment with wide eyes. Rhea pursed her lips into a thin line, yet her assistant was the one to retort. His voice was soft, yet firm, in a tone Flayn recognized well. “What is there to not understand? There was an assassination, an entire country is grieving. Now is not the time to dig, Byleth. How could you be so...”

The rest went unsaid. It did not _need_ to be spoken aloud, as Rhea already knew what her assistant was thinking. Seteth seemed to curl up into himself and turn his face away, guilt flickering through his eyes. Byleth wished she could read minds - another rumor that was being spread about her, one she wished was true - so she could mine into Seteth's head and know what he felt, what he meant, what he could possibly imply in his shock and sadness. 

She had a theory, though, she was not oblivious to how others saw her. 

A lack of empathy, a lack of care. A lack of compassion. It was assumptions that Byleth had begun to guess about herself, though she didn’t quite understand the complete implications of the words attached to her. All she heard were the whispers of the guards standing outside of her door, and how they looked at her when she faked a polite smile for their sakes. 

Seteth was like her other father, her uncle, and she loved him as such. Yet, now, he looked at her with hesitance. He looked at her as if he was wondering if she knew what he thought. For all he knew, she did. She was a good guesser. 

Something like the tragedy was rare. Something like the tragedy was always expected, but never actually happening. It was only years earlier when the Insurrection had occurred, and Byleth watched as Rhea mourned the lives of those lost in _that_ bloodshed. _This_ bloodshed seemed more personal, more tender. 

The only life left from the tragedy of Duscur was that of a boy, aged 13. He was only a few months older than Byleth. She tried to put herself into his shoes, to imagine losing all of her family within several minutes. 

And she simply couldn’t.

To see Rhea, Seteth and Jeralt dead by fire and blade. To see even Flayn, her new sister, dying at the hand of a stranger - it was unimaginable. Perhaps she wasn’t creative enough, or empathetic enough. Perhaps she didn’t understand empathy in it’s truest, purest form. Perhaps she was exactly what Seteth was thinking in that moment, just seconds ago when he spoke out of turn in his own grief and empathy for the dead. Byleth found that she forgave him, almost immediately. The guilt in his eyes was evident. 

“I’m sorry,” she admitted, letting loose the air stuck in her throat that threatened to choke her, “You’re right. Now is the time to mourn, and to cry alongside our brethren in Faerghus.”

Proudly, Rhea pushed another wild lock of hair behind her ear. She always stared at Byleth’s ears as if she was expecting something to pop out of them, and Byleth could only hope that nothing ever did. “You’re very right, little one.”

She _despised_ that nickname. Sothis gave a ghostly snicker from over Rhea’s shoulder. She’d finally decided to wake up from her 10 hour nap. 

Byleth offered Rhea a simple nod. The Archbishop returned it with the sweetest of smiles. Next to her, Flayn clasped her hands together, “I think we should write the Blaiddyd family some letters!”

The tension in the room was beginning to lift. Seteth rolled his eyes, “Nobody wants your letters, Flayn.”

“Brother! I am an expert letter writer!”

Rhea pulled away and averted her eyes innocently, “We have all seen the letters you write, Flayn…”

“And they are wonderful! Are they not?”

“They're... unique..." Subtly, the tension in Rhea’s shoulder’s loosened. Her hands were no longer clasped tightly in her lap, but now patting her thighs casually, “But very sweet, nonetheless. I shall deliver them myself.”

Byleth perked in response, “Yourself?”

“Yes,” a slow nod, “I think I’ll go to Faerghus and give the young Prince and his uncle a visit.”

Rhea very rarely left. She was never eager to, adoring the people of the Monastery and tending to their needs as her full priority. Byleth had only seen her leave one time in the last 12 years of her life, and she was only gone for two days. It would take at least three weeks to get to Faerghus and back. 

Jeralt would be back before Rhea was, yet Byleth found herself dwelling on her grandmother’s announcement. Fhirdiad, the white city of the North, the school of sorcery, the tallest mountain peaks. She’d only dreamt of it alongside all of the other cities she’d never visited. 

“What’re you going to do there?” Byleth tried to sound casual and mask her interest. She was merely asking out of politeness to all who looked at her. 

Rhea couldn’t read her facial expressions as well she thought she could. Smiling, she answered, “Just provide comfort, and talk of what to do next. They are our most trusted allies, afterall.”

And they were weakened, Byleth didn’t need to be an adult to know how uncomfortable that made Rhea and Seteth. While Faerghus relied on the Church for donations and supplies, the Church relied on their military might if anything were to ever happen. With the insurrection having taken place only four years ago, Rhea was nervous. It seemed only natural to offer a helping hand to their strongest ally. 

And Byleth really wanted to get out of the Monastery for a few weeks. She was beyond bored. 

“Can I go?”

The tension returned in an instant. She could've cut it with a dull knife, it was so thick and sudden. 

Perhaps it was her naivety, or her age. Perhaps it was her blunt manner of asking, or her ignorance that caused her to ask in the first place. Byleth could not, for the life of her, understand why Rhea and Seteth’s pleasant expressions fell into frowns in an instant. She could not understand why Flayn’s hand rested on her shoulder as if trying to comfort her, or why anger flickered across Rhea’s face. 

It was a simple request. Byleth tried to hold her ground with an unwavering, blank stare. 

“N-No,” it was rare for Rhea to be taken off guard, yet she steadied her shoulders and sat up straight once more, regaining herself, “You may not.”

Fire flickered in Byleth’s stomach, something akin to anger. Flayn’s comforting hand grew annoying on her shoulder. She shook her sister off and clenched her fists in her lap, “Why the hell not?”

“Language!” Seteth gasped, “What is Jeralt teaching you?”

Jeralt was teaching her how to act like a normal human being and not a lifeless doll. Byleth ignored Seteth and continued to stare Rhea down, “I want to go. If I’m going to take your position when you’re too old then I need to know what to do.”

She didn’t catch Seteth wincing and turning away when she spoke of growing old. Even Flayn halted, yet Rhea stayed completely still. 

She was frustrating, the Archbishop. She was infuriating, and confusing, and too still and calm to match the fire in Byleth’s core. Rhea tilted her head, while her lips grew into a smile. It was a sweet expression, one of pity and condescension thinly veiled behind motherly friendliness. It was a smile that told Byleth ‘you really don’t get it, do you?’. And perhaps she didn’t, but she _wished_ to. 

“Rhea, please,” she begged further, hands clasping, “I want to learn from you. This is a perfect opportunity, right? I saw how many people came to you yesterday, what if it’s even worse in Fhirdiad? You might need help.”

“I will be in the castle,” she answered softly, “It’ll just be the Prince and the new King Regent-”

“Don’t you have to coronate him?” Byleth reached further, “I need to watch you do that too! I need to learn!”

“You just want to travel, little one.”

“That’s a bonus, yes-”

Her condescending smile fell into a disappointed frown that stung at Byleth’s heart, “That’s very selfish. A whole family was murdered, and you’re thinking of a vacation?”

It was the knife twisting inside of her wound. Once again, she was selfish, she was apathetic and uncaring. Byleth fell back in guilt. She lowered her hand and twiddled her fingers in her lap, focusing on anything other than Rhea’s expression of disappointment. “I’m sorry…”

Flayn’s comforting hand returned, yet Byleth accepted it this time, leaning into her touch and scooting closer. Flayn laid her head on her shoulder in an affectionate way, something Byleth was not at all used to. “It’s okay,” the older girl whispered, “sometimes that’s just how we deal with hard things.”

Rhea had a frown for that as well, “It is not how I am raising you to handle it, though, you are in a position of power and cannot _afford_ to be selfish.”

Byleth’s heart twisted once more, “I’m not _trying_ to be selfish! I truly do want to learn from you.”

“You’re not ready for that.”

“I am, I promis-”

“This discussion is over,” Rhea stood from her seat and cast a glance at Seteth, “I’ll be in my room for the rest of the night. Please make sure Byleth is guarded tonight.”

He faced the window, back to the rest of his family. He offered a simple nod as Rhea left the room. She was far too graceful to stomp, yet the door slamming shut behind her made enough noise to strike Byleth’s heart with anxiety. 

She had never seen Rhea so angry, and she could’ve never guessed that her request would effect her so much. While Byleth had not thought through her words very well, she didn’t think it was all that bad. 

“I apologize,” she gulped and let her face fall into the impassive blankness that she often wore, “I just wasn’t thinking.”

Seteth didn’t move from his spot at the window, “It’s fine, Byleth. Don’t worry. You know how she gets when you ask to leave.”

She thought she’d learned her lesson by this age. Perhaps she never would. Flayn still rested her cheek on her shoulder, “Why can’t she ever leave, brother?”

Seteth’s hands clasped tightly behind his back, “The more people that know Rhea has an heir, the more danger she’s in. Rhea can take care of herself against assassinations, but Byleth cannot.”

“Well, no one’s ever tried to assassinate me so we don’t really know that, do we-”

“No one’s ever tried to assassinate you because we’ve kept your existence a secret, Byleth.”

Frustration replaced her guilt, “Will I ever be able to go anywhere?”

“We’ll…” he stiffened, “we’ll talk about it when you’re older.”

****

* * *

_“Would it... make you happy if I broke the rules?”_

_"If you broke Rhea's, yes."_

Her father would be so proud of her. 

The note left on Seteth’s desk simply said ‘I’m going anyway’ - Byleth’s handwriting was curvy and bubbly and entirely informal, something that always irritated the man. She could almost imagine his scowl upon reading it. While irritating Seteth wasn’t very nice, as she truly did love her uncle, it had it’s satisfaction on occasion. 

And it was true, she was going to go anyway. 

Rhea took a battalion of Knights with her, followed by a cart of supplies that left the next day. It was heavily guarded, as it carried bags of coin, wheat, followed by several livestock that walked along with the horses. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for the royal family to live off until they got back on their feet and could resume the trading economy. 

Byleth hid in the hay meant for the cows. She was fortunate to not have an allergy, as the hay found it’s way into every crevice of her body. It was up her nose, in her armpit, in her shoes. She pulled what she could from her clothes, yet being surrounded by the stuff made it sure that her discomfort was neverending. She wondered if it was her punishment for breaking Rhea’s rules. 

It was quite nice being a late bloomer. She was small for the age of 12, oftentimes being mistaken for a 9 year old. She was gangly and thin and short, and she slipped through the shadows and into the supplies cart with ease. If the Knights had noticed her popping her head up to look at the scenery every once in a while, nobody said anything. Byleth wondered if they disliked Rhea’s rules just as much as she did. 

The ride was bumpy and long. She munched on apples meant for the horses, and sat in the back of the cart behind the largest bale of hay. It had only been a day of travel, hours away from the Monastery, when she was awoken from her nap by a sudden yelp of surprise. 

Her eyes shot open. The sun shone through the window of the cart onto her face. She had hay in her hair, and a half eaten apple in her hand. The female guard from several days ago simply stared with wide eyes at the child in the animal feed cart. 

Byleth returned the look. The guard grimaced, and stepped back, “W-Wha-”

“Oh no,” she forced a giggle, a hollow sound that was more unnerving than anything, “I must’ve fallen asleep here…”

“In…” the guard glanced at her fellow Knights with shock, while they gathered around to stare at the Archbishop’s heir hiding in their feed cart, “you fell asleep _here_?”

“It’s quite comfy,” Byleth patted an itchy pile of hay, “I, uh, like the smell too.”

Silence. One of the Knights whispered, “What do we do with her?”

Several of the Knights didn’t even seem to recognize her, which wasn’t surprising at all. Very few got the honor of guarding the heir, only the most trusted and strong. If anyone spoke of her existence, it was a whisper of the odd girl living in the upper rooms of the Monastery like some haunting ghost. Yet, the ones who did not know her could recognize that she was not a mere orphan, the lily braided into her hair and sitting atop her ear spoke more than she could hope to. 

Byleth would have to be clever to get what she wanted. Jeralt had taught her that wit could help her out of almost any situation. So, she sat up and stared back at the group of shocked Knights at the mouth of the cart, all watching her warily. 

She crossed her legs over each other and straightened her shoulders. She was suddenly glad for having decided to wear the lily in her hair, despite being dressed in all black with a heavy cloak over her shoulder. It felt odd to not wear the flower of those chosen by Seiros, it was a part of her. And it saved her from being mistaken for an orphan by those who did not know her. 

“You could just let me walk back on my own,” Byleth suggest casually, “What’re we, only five minutes away?”

A grimace of pain from the oldest Knight, “Five hours away.”

“Oh, I can make that.”

“No,” he shook his head, “No. No. I am not having your death on my hands.”

“My death?” She tilted her head innocently. They were buying her act perfectly.

“The bears are wild this season! They tower at 10 feet tall!”

“Ah…” she feigned thought, putting her hand on her chin and staring into the distance as if she was musing very deeply, “well, I guess we’ll just have to go back to the Monastery together. The Archbishop will… Well, truthfully, Grandmother is going to be very embarrassed at not bringing supplies with her.”

The Knights were so spooked by the implication of embarrassing Rhea that they nearly missed the ‘grandmother’ aspect of her response. If anybody did catch it, they had no time to wonder of the meaning before the lead Knight took control, “We cannot let the Archbishop down!”

Byleth feigned surprise, “Oh? So you’ll take me with you and we’ll get there on time? Is that okay?”

Birds chirped in the distance, and a gust of wind blew the trees around them. The Oghma mountains were merely silhouettes in the far distance, much too far to return to in time. The Knights stayed quiet in thought as nature moved on around them. 

“Is… that okay?”

“I think so!” Byleth forced a smile on her face, an unnatural feeling, “Rhea doesn’t even have to know. I’ll just stay quiet here in the hay cart, and when we return to Garreg Mach I’ll travel with the supplies cart again. She’ll never know I’m here.”

The female knight squinted as if she knew what Byleth was trying to pull, “And how can we trust your word? You might be trying to get us in trouble.”

Some kids were like that, Byleth heard stories from Seteth about the brats living in the orphanage on Monastery grounds, and how they pulled pranks seemingly for no reason other than their own amusement. She never liked those types, even if she didn’t know any personally. She sighed dramatically and let her fingers brush against the soft petals of the lily behind her ear, “I am a chosen one of Seiros, holy and, uh… righteous,” finding her stride, she leveled the female knight with a heavy stare, “You would commit heresy by thinking I would cause chaos for the sake of chaos? I love all people, just as Seiros does.”

How Byleth despised that trick. Once the words sank in and the Knight’s eyes widened, a mixture of shame and horror between the entire group of adults, guilt began to eat away at Byleth’s confidence. She didn’t deserve to wear that lily. 

There was also the entire fact that she was lying. Rhea would know she was there, as she was entirely earnest in her desire to learn from her and watch the coronation. But what could Rhea do? Lock her in jail? She would never dare. 

Byleth was fully prepared to join Rhea and put on appearances while in Fhirdiad, to defend the Knights and tell her Grandmother that they didn’t know of her presence, and to take her punishment upon returning home. 

It was really more of a ‘act now, think later’ situation - Byleth’s preferred method of going about life. 

“Trust me,” she lied with a fake smile, upturning her lips with none of the graciousness or happy feelings inside her chest, “It will be fine. I’d rather the Archbishop not show up to Fhirdiad empty handed.”

The Knights agreed in the end. While Byleth’s smiles were never sincere, and that was easy to see, her logic was too sound to argue with. A child could not cause so much chaos, and she was small enough to hide for a few days. It would work out just fine. 

Until five days later, when they finally arrived in Fhirdiad and checked the hay cart to give Byleth her dinner for the evening. 

And they found it empty. Byleth was gone. 


	4. Fhirdiad

  
_Not much is hidden underneath a rocky heart for breaking teeth, and apple core's cyanide seed_

* * *

After a week and a half of travel, an entirely too bumpy road, and several bouts of cart-sickness, Byleth was ready to leave the hay cart. 

Her legs were sore from lack of movement, and being squished between two bales of animal feed. Her mind, entirely too unstimulated. All she had to entertain herself with was the passing scenery, and the conversations of the knights escorting her. The muffled discussion between two guards about the health of one’s mother, in particular, had earned her interest for an hour or so. This was along with the conversation on the other side of the cart about the bad food experience they had at the last inn - Byleth wouldn’t know, she napped in the cart and had her food delivered after everybody ate, and it tasted just fine. The female knight snuck her into her room after dark to avoid having to pay for an extra guest, making the young heir feel very criminal. 

Days passed, she recognized the climate change as the group drew further North along the bumpy road. She’d read about Faerghus and it’s constant winters, and could guess that they were approaching the famed city soon enough. This was accompanied by the wind scorched cliffsides, and the vibrant evergreens that littered alongside the road. 

The chill in the air turned sharp, knives against her cheeks as she leaned out of the cart. The air became thinner while the elevation rose, yet it was not unlike the Oghma mountains. It was a dry sort of cold that slithered down her throat and stole away her breath. The knights were prepared with insulated armor, yet all Byleth had were the clothes on her back and the hay that surrounded her. The female knight gave her a cloak to wrap herself in, and she stayed quite cozy in the confines of the wooden cart. It provided shelter against winter’s bite well enough. 

Once the white, stone gates of Fhirdiad drew near, she knew that she would have to leave her warmth and shelter behind. She could not do what the guards hoped she would, and stay in a quiet, dark place for the day or two they would be there. She heard talk of setting her up secretly in a reclusive inn where she could be warm, and while she appreciated the thought, there would be no need. 

The groan of ancient gates opening, along with the clop of horse hooves on the paved road. A gate guard yelled to announce the arrival of the knights. Byleth bumped in the back of the cart while it moved over the cobblestones of the Fhirdiad roads. 

She peaked through the hay to see a guard carrying a torch behind the group. He stopped to watch it roll away, the golden light quickly moving further from her sight, being overtaken by shadows. Now, far enough away, she pushed through the hay and wiggled towards the mouth. 

The knights were tired - it had to be late. The moon shone above brightly enough to provide light without a torch. The knights rode their horses in front of where Byleth sat, nobody sending her even a short glance. 

Tuck and roll, just as Jeralt taught her. She was grateful that her family was so paranoid of her being kidnapped, they’d taught her how to escape a moving carriage. Yet, she imagined that they would not have guessed that she'd use the knowledge in this particular way. Her heart skipped a quick beat in nervousness, yet she _knew_ that this moment in the shadows of the tall buildings around her, she could not afford to hesitate. 

Tucking, she rolled. The ground hit her arm with an unpleasant thump, a rude awakening from the stiff position she’d been in for so long. Placing her palms flat on the cold stone of the road, she rolled over her head towards the corner of a building, covered by an awning that blocked the moon’s light above. 

Sitting up, and shifting herself flatly against the wall, she watched the hay cart roll away. It bumped and hopped while the horses pulled it, followed by the yawning knights of Seiros. They had no idea, she noted in delight. 

Ignoring the bite of cold, she took off down the alleyway. She weaved through buildings, and let her legs carry her further and _further_ from the knights until she could not hear their horses and quiet conversation any longer. 

It was almost sad to part from her group. As uncomfortable as they seemed in her presence, they were kind people. Their captain had a wife and kids who he adored, and the female knight was engaged to a fearless hunter in a village in the mountains. Byleth listened to their worries as they traveled, and while she did not join in the conversations, she  _ knew _ them. She knew their concerns, their friendships and their humor. She had quickly discovered that they all knew very little of each other before this trip, yet they spoke so familial with each other, like old friends. It was a bond forged over sore legs and protecting their supplies. They did not know it, but Byleth felt a part of that bond. 

And she had lied so flagrantly to their faces. 

The biting cold seemed like a well deserved punishment for the betrayal of the kind knights who protected her. She’d never been somewhere so cold. It stung at her teeth and made her gums ache in pain. It attacked the tips of her fingers, her toes, and her nose. She wiped at the snot threatening to escape, and kept running. The cold filled her lungs like dry water. 

Faerghus was  _ terrible _ . 

“Dammit,” she croaked, slowing in her run to lean against a cold stone wall, “I hate this already. Worst vacation ever.” She pulled a stick of hay from her hair and tossed it into a corner. She had left the heavy cloak lended to her behind, for fear it would catch in the wheels of the cart as she escaped. 

She wrapped her arms around herself as she stepped through the snowy sludge piled into corners, white mixed with black and brown, hastily pushed aside to melt. It began to sink through the tips of her boots in the worst of ways. She stomped, holding herself, trying to regain some sort of feeling in her feet. 

“I got myself into this,” she murmured, thinking of what her father would say, “so I need to figure it out myself. Just… look up.”

Look up, look for the tallest building. That had to be the castle where Rhea was at. 

It was far too late for her to be awake, she always slept rather early. It had to be past midnight, and the worst temperatures of the day. Moving quickly, she made her way North, to the center of the city. The castle with it’s stretching towers beckoned her. 

Hardly anybody walked the streets. There was the occasional drunk man, who stumbled past her without a look. She wore all black, and had tossed the wilting lily from her hair days ago. She simply looked like an orphaned child wandering the streets at night, bothering nobody and not wanting to be bothered in return. Yet, her wide eyed look of curiosity was enough to give her away to the more observant vagabonds. She could not bare to hide her open mouth, owl eyes, and whispers to herself of the unusual, new city. It was nothing like the illustrations she'd seen. 

Tall lamps towered above her, she’d never seen anything like them. She stopped to stand under one, craning her neck back to see the inside, where the melting candle sat. Alois had been talking of such an invention several weeks ago, and how men on stilts would walk the streets and light the lamps in the late afternoon, and put them out at night. How she wished to catch a glimpse of a man on stilts lighting up candles. It was fascinating, and unlike anything she’d seen in Garreg Mach, where the guards simply carried torches. If you wanted light in Garreg Mach, you just simply didn’t stay up late. 

Her eyes shifted from the candles, to the moon. Absently, she began to walk down the street once more. Her arms wrapped around herself as she craned her head back to stare at the sky. It was a clear, velvet backdrop with a million winking stars above. The moon stared down at her in the same bright, curious way that she stared at it. The winter air puffed from between her lips as if she was smoking, disappearing above her while she walked. She didn't bother to watch where she stepped, feet moving on their own as she stumbled down the street. 

Until someone happened to be standing in her way. 

“Watch out-”

The warning went unheard. The sudden cacophony of chests and arms and chins bumping into each other tore her from her mind. Her head made sudden contact with someone else’s, and her body was knocked back with accidental force. Her own feet betrayed her. She stumbled away, holding her chin, feeling a pulsating against her skull, and her ankle twisting on itself. Betrayal. Her bottom hit the icy ground and sent instant stings up her back and to her head. 

“Goddess,” she swore without another thought, “you’ve got a hard head.”

“W-What? _I’ve_ got a hard head?”

She scowled through the flash of pain, “Yes, _you’ve_ got a hard head.”

Her ankle throbbed, yet the shock running up her spine was beginning to dissipate with the passing seconds. She was thankful to not have hit her head on the sidewalk when she stumbled backwards. To imagine Rhea's knights finding her in a concussive state in the middle of the street was a less than pleasant thought. 

The ground under her was slippery with a thin layer of ice. It looked dirty, as if it had been a puddle just earlier that day. It cracked under her wet boots where she had stepped and slipped and hit the hard headed body standing in her way. The hard headed body that was sitting on his bottom across from her, eyes as wide in surprise like dinner plates. 

Behind him was a teenager that looked about 14 or 15. He was big for his age, with toned arms and dark skin that stood out clearly against the white color palette of Fhirdiad. Despite the strength he looked to possess, he stumbled towards his fallen friend like a lamb on new legs. He knelt awkwardly, hurriedly, eyes wide, and grabbed at his companion's shirt like a lifeline. 

“I’m okay, I am,” his friend glanced over his shoulder to offer a weak smile, “it was just a little fall.” He turned to look at Byleth - eyes narrowing in confusion at her wide mouthed look and wrinkled nose, “A-Are you okay?”

Byleth shut her mouth. She shut it so fast her aching teeth yelled at her. She gulped and took a deep breath to add some warmth to the ice growing in her lungs, “Uh…”

“How very intelligent.” Sothis snorted from behind her, “your first time talking to a boy your age and all you do is stutter. You _charmer_.”

A boy. A boy. A boy! A boy! Goddess, it was a boy. 

_A_ _boy_. 

And she had insulted the hardness of his head. She could've melted right then and there, like ice on a hot sidewalk. 

There had to be _some_ way to fix her sudden lack of intelligence. She was the heir to the Archbishop, having studied five languages and dialects at the tender age of 12. The heir, who sang the loudest and prettiest in the choir. The heir, who was trained in public speaking and proper grammar! The heir, who found the most creative curses possible! She, certainly, could do better than ' _uhhhhhh_ '. 

He was waiting for an answer. Gulping dryly, she opened her mouth, yet all that would come forth from her tongue was a strangled, ‘ _eehuuh_ ’. 

Sothis laughed even harder. Byleth’s blank, slightly shocked expression fell into a heavy frown. It was over before it even started. It was _not_ _only_ her first time speaking to a boy, it was her first time speaking to someone her age in general - other than Flayn, who didn’t count because she was her sister, and certainly _not_ a boy. 

He blinked. He furrowed his brows, and leaned forward, hand reaching across the thin layer of ice they had both slipped on. “Do you need help up?”

Her whole body seemed to shake with nervousness. Even just staying here in this one spot could give the knights enough time to find her. She flickered her eyes down to his hand, then back to his face, noting the bandages wrapped around his hair and making it puff up in an odd way around his head. Back to his hand, which was wrapped in bandages as well. She was afraid to grab it for fear of irritating whatever wound was covered there. 

After a second of staring at her staring at _him_ , he finally got the message. He pulled his hand back with hesitance, “I apologize,” a humorless chuckle, “I imagine this is quite odd.”

She wrinkled her nose in immediate confusion, “Odd?”

“Well,” he glanced at his bandaged hand, “you know…”

She _didn’t_ know. The olde r teen behind him looked anxious as he knelt behind his friend. He held a hand under his arm while the blond stood, shakily, with his face contorting in pain. Byleth pushed herself up with less grace.  Her ankle throbbed once more like a reminder. She huffed in pain and leaned against the stone wall, pulling her foot up behind her to stretch around and examine her leg. She said nothing, while the two watched her in curious silence. 

The older one didn’t make a sound. The younger, blond one only opened his mouth to speak, but closed it with hesitance. His brows furrowed as he watched Byleth pull her boot off and twist her ankle around, muttering to herself. He could not, of course, see Sothis floating through his body and inspecting his bandages - yet, he _did_ suddenly feel very itchy. Byleth continued to ignore Sothis's inspection.

“Wet,” the older one muttered, quiet as a mouse with a deep baritone, an accent lacing his words, “she doesn’t have gloves.”

His companion nodded in agreement. Both sets of eyes lingered on her. She swore to herself and winced when twisting her ankle, rubbing the skin to help the muscle loosen so she could run once more. Finally, after another beat of awkward silence, she slipped her sock back on, and stuffed her foot back into her wet boot. All the while, the boys watched her with barely a disguised mix of horror and confusion. 

She straightened up, and returned the stare. 

The blond was the more talkative one, with an accent distinctly Faerghusian, "Excuse me, but are you from around here?” Byleth always found the Northern accents odd, never particularly thick, and usually spoken with a blunt, but smooth tongue. It was the same with this boy, as polite and enunciated as his words were. She found her own accent sounding more airy and melodical in comparison, realizing suddenly how much like Rhea and Flayn she truly sounded.

Blinking, a bit lost in thought, she snorted air from her nose in the tiniest show of amusement, “Nope.”

“Ah," he paused hesitantly, "I see...”

_Did_ he see? What _could_ he possibly see? Byleth’s hormonal urges to be as charming as possible disappeared in an instance, replaced with thinly veiled offense. She narrowed her eyes and looked both of the teens up and down in judgement. 

Of course, _they_ were dressed in heavy furs and wools. They both looked very, very warm. And very, very injured. 

“Are you… are you two okay?”

The older one’s face flickered with something unreadable. His eyes narrowed, and he turned his head just slightly. He had a white braid hanging down to his cheek, something that seemed annoying to deal with. Burn marks ran up the exposed part of his neck and reached to his ears, yet he covered it consciously with his scarf before she could get a better look. His younger companion was far better dressed up, his own bandages looking more professionally done. He wore them around his fingers, and he shuffled on his feet as if his legs hurt. His chin-length hair was pulled back, puffed up and misplaced with the bandages surrounding his head. He had one long bandage wrapped around his neck, as if someone had tried to slice it all the way across.

Terrifying. She’d never seen two people so heavily covered in obvious wounds. Especially not two _young_ people, around her age. A chill ran down her spine. 

Neither of them answered her. 

The blond one was frowning now, a change from his polite demeanor. He glanced away, staring at the wall in favor of looking at her. His bandaged hand went to the heavy woolen cloak laying over his shoulders, “You need to dress better, especially for this late at night.”

He pulled the cloak from his back, with his friend guiding it along with burn scarred fingers. He handed it to Byleth, holding it as far away from himself and towards her as he possibly could. Hesitantly, she reached out to feel the material. 

It was itchy, but warm. She stepped forward on her aching ankle and bundled the fabric into her arms. It was dyed a muted dark blue, and it matched his eyes. Did everybody in Fhirdiad dress so nicely? “You don’t have to give this to me, if I keep moving I’ll stay warm.”

He must’ve thought she was a street rat, with her wet boots and her snow burned red cheeks. She was sure her hair was wind blown and tangled as well, completing the look. He sent her a forced, close lipped smile, “You can’t move all night.”

“Are you sure?”

He nodded. His smile was beginning to grow more sincere. Subdued, traced with sadness, but genuine. The teen behind him was sighing as if he was used to this kind of behavior from his friend. 

“Thank you,” the hormones had returned and Byleth resisted the urge to bury her face into it, “Where do I return it to?”

“Keep it,” he answered, “take it as an apology for knocking you down.”

The hormones raged. How they _raged_ and screamed and kicked. Sothis was snickering behind her and whispering of her red cheeks. Byleth ignored her imaginary friend and threw the cloak over her shoulders, wrapping the warmth around her arms. It was much needed. “But _I_ ran into _you_.”

“Well,” he shrugged, “I was just standing there, I didn’t even see you coming.”

That reminded her, it wasn’t _his_ voice that had told her to watch out, it was a deeper one. It must’ve been his friend who had seen her first. Still, _she_ was the one gawking at the lightposts and the clear sky above, not watching where she walked. The ice underfoot didn’t help at all. 

“Thank you,” she offered a quick nod, “you’re really kind… uh, by the way…”

He didn’t look cold at all, he must’ve been used to the winters of Fhirdiad. He tilted his head, “Yes?”

“Do you know the quickest way to the castle?”

He blinked. Byleth stared at him blankly. Sothis hissed, “That’s not a normal question! What street rat would want to go to the castle?”

_Every_ street rat, she imagined. It looked like a wonderful place in the distance, quite tall and extravagant silhouetted above the city. 

The boy furrowed his brows. He opened his mouth to answer, but he was instantly interrupted by a shout in the distance. Byleth’s muscles froze, her blood running colder than her wet toes. The streets of Fhirdiad had been quiet this entire time, and the voice that reached her ears was professional and deep, calling very distinctly through the streets, “My lady! Lady Eisner!”

Another curse poured from her mouth before her tongue could stop. Sothis disappeared in fright, and Byleth clutched the cloak close to her chest. “I’m sorry, really I am,” she rambled quickly to the boys, “but I’ve got to go. Thank you so much!”

“W-Wait-”

“No thanks!” 

“Really, wait-”

“No,” she stepped away, her ankle complaining, “are you sure you don’t want this back?”

“Keep it, it’s a gift. But please wai-”

A stubborn girl, fearful to be caught by the wrong people. The shouts were drawing nearer, followed by a group of heavy footsteps. The clacks and clangs of heavy armor echoed down the curving alleyways. She turned on her heel and ran away, holding the woolen cloak to her chest and letting it fly behind her like a cape. 

As she ran, the boy called out for her. He reached out a hand, but she slipped away into the shadows before he could argue any further. Byleth left them behind on the street, turning and running down an alleyway as the group of Knights emerged to confront the boys. 

Byleth did _not_ see the Knights gasp and suddenly bow to him. She did not see him tell them that he had no idea where a mysterious ‘Lady Eisner’ was - which was true, he’d never heard the name before - and that he was just speaking to a friend a minute ago. And she did not see him quietly dismiss the Knights, and walk home with his friend who barely spoke a word of the common tongue, simply wondering why such an odd girl could possibly want to go to the castle. 

Byleth merely ran. She ran, and stumbled, and gasped for air. Eventually, she slowed and raised the cloak to wrap around her head and cover her screaming ear drums. The cold was debilitating, far more than the heat. One day into her vacation and she already found herself wishing to be home in her warm bed. 

Yet, her journey would soon end. The castle drew nearer, and she knew that she did not _really_ need the boy’s directions. If she ran fast enough, the fastest way would be whatever way she happened to take. She had always been quick on her feet. 

She emerged from the shadows near the gate. The city buildings had grown taller the closer to the palace, and the roads steeper. Fhirdiad was - very annoyingly - built into a mountainside. Beyond the castle was a thick forest of cedars and evergreens, with the occasional house or business built into the mountain and standing out. A cliff bordered the back of the palace, which was surrounded by a man-made wall hugging it’s courtyards. 

Byleth slowed to a walk as she approached the gates. The guard standing at the large door with his lance in hand rolled his eyes while watching her limp towards him on her swollen ankle.  “I’m here to see the Archbishop,” she said, hating how high pitched and childish her voice sounded to herself, “Please?"

The guard eyed her limp, her shoes and her outfit. He furrowed his brows upon seeing her cloak, as if he recognized it. He sent her a fake smile, “She’s busy at the moment.”

Of course, Byleth knew that he didn’t know that. Nobody updated the door guards, she’d had them outside her door all of her life and knew that they had no idea what she ever did inside of her room. She imagined that gate guards were even less in the know of nobility. “She’s asleep, actually. She always goes to sleep at 9 p.m. you know.”

He scoffed now, offended that a child would speak to him in such condescending tones, as if _she_ knew the Archbishop, “Okay kid, whatever you say. Now run back to where you came from.”

Two could play at that game. “Okay, fine. I’ll just sit out here and freeze to death. You can be the one to tell the Archbishop that you left her heir outside overnight.”

Another disbelieving scoff. He looked away from her and stared ahead of him, continuing his silent guarding. His hand clenched the lance tightly, lips clenching even tighter. He stood silently, while Byleth watched. She leaned against the wall and crossed her arms. His brows began to furrow in thought. 

Until finally. “Heir…?”

It was rare that she smiled so naturally. It was rare that something moved her deeply enough to do so. Her smirk was sweet and mischievous. “Yep. Lady Byleth Eisner, of Garreg Mach.”

His eyes grew wide. He looked at her as if she was a ghost, “I-I’ve heard about you.”

“Yes, it’s true. I _can_ read minds.”

He squinted under his steel helmet, “How do I know you’re not lying?”

Casually, she inspected her fingernails, “I guess you’ll just have to see if you get executed for leaving me out in the cold or not.”

He took a deep breath, a very deep inhale and exhale that went from the top of his head to his toes. He finally slumped and rubbed the bridge of his nose, “Fine. Go in, the door guards will take you where you need to go.”

“Trust me,” she patted the heavy armor covering his arm, “I won’t let you get fired.”

He offered a low ‘yeah, yeah’ while she walked past him, into the courtyard. He groaned and rubbed his head, yet she ignored it and moved on, eyes wide and curious at the scenery around her. 

She’d heard of Lambert’s first wife, the late Queen Leliana, who loved roses. She planted gardens full of rose bushes of all different sorts. Byleth could see the remnants of her love just from the entrance of the castle itself. Lining the pathway were large hedges of dead leaves and branches, all covered in thorns. She could only imagine how beautiful it would be in summer, rather than the dead of winter. 

She pulled the cloak closer around her body. It was spectacular at keeping the cold out, and it smelled of evergreen and cinnamon, spicy and like nature itself. She buried her nose into it while walking towards the door - her first conversation with a boy, her first _gift_ from a boy, all happening at once. She wished she had someone to brag about it to, Flayn could care less about such things. 

What had he been doing out so late? Were he and his friend street rats? They didn’t smell like it, and neither of them were dirty. His bandages looked clean, and the cloak she wore was nicely made. Perhaps he was just some rich kid that couldn’t sleep, or was meeting up with his girlfriend, or going out to drink. Whatever rich kids that snuck out did. She wouldn’t know. _She_ was a rich kid that stayed in her room and ate snacks until she fell asleep atop her covers with all the lights on. 

Nonetheless, he was not the reason she was wandering the streets of Fhirdiad at night. She had her mission, and she was close to fulfilling it. The door guard eyed her as she approached in a manner very similar to the way the gate guard had. 

She searched the guard’s eyes under his helmet. The people of Faerghus seemed very similar to each other, with high cheekbones and pale skin, straight noses. This guard in particular had very pale hair, and a sad look about him. She approached carefully, “I, uh, I”m here to see the Archbishop.”

Unlike the guard at the gate, this one cared far less. “Hey, if you got past Lonnie up there, you’re probably telling the truth.”

“You say that like getting past Lonnie was hard,” she raised an eyebrow. She’d been hanging around Sothis far too much, her sardonic nature was beginning to take root, especially without Rhea’s eyes boring into her and making sure she was acting properly.

The guard bristled at her comment, “What’s your business?”

“I told you, I’m here to see the Archbishop.”

“How do I know you’re not lying?”

She had to stop herself from eye-rolling into oblivion. The cold was beginning to crawl into her ears and freeze her brain, and she was growing impatient with it. Even the guards were dressed far warmer than her. “Okay, fine, I’ll just let  _ you _ tell Rhea that her heir died in the cold because you wouldn’t let her in.”

Would she have to do this with every single guard she crossed paths with? She’d only done it twice and she was already irritated. 

Fortunately, this guard was a bit more weak willed than the gate guard. He sighed, turning over to face the large doors and put his hand on the wood, “Fine, whatever. Come on, kid.”

There was already another man on the inside of the doors. As they opened and the two stepped inside, he cast the odd pair a questioning glance. The door guard sighed, “Could you watch the door while I escort this girl?”

“Uh, sure,” he sent Byleth an odd look, which she returned. He flinched and slipped past her, out the door and out of sight from her burrowing owl eyes. 

“Just take me to Rhea, please,” she forced politeness into her tone, putting her hands behind her back and clasping them in imitation of Seteth, “I don’t mind waking her.”

He snorted, “Aren’t you nice. Fine, follow me.”

The castle was far more simple than she expected it to be. It was different than the golds and silvers of the Monastery. There were no murals of the children of the Goddess on the ceiling, no painted glass that reflected in rainbows onto marble floors. She glanced around with wide eyes while following the guard, surprised to not even see _one_ extravagant pillar. 

The outside of the castle was beautiful, but it was the nature around it that made it that way. The cliffside was tall, reaching into the side, with the castle having carved it’s body into it. The roses and vines crawled up the towers. Byleth expected the inside to match the beauty of the outside, but it did not. It was merely simple. It was plain, even. 

The guard led her through an empty throne room. Blue banners depicting lions hung around the throne, but the throne itself was just a stone chair with a blue cushion. It was on top of three short steps, followed by a blue velvet carpet that ran from the length of the room. There was nothing else, besides the occasional wooden bench pushed against the wall, most likely for the elderly visitors to sit. There were not even paintings decorating the walls. 

She went up the stairs at the side of the room. The stairs were wide, and covered in dried slush from outside. These led to the second floor, and then to another set of plain stairs, and to the third floor. Her ankle ached by the time she reached the top. 

Now, there were paintings that lined the walls. The first one she saw was of an old man with wrinkles that seemed to never end. Next to him was a painting of a woman with an equal amount of wrinkles. She sent it a curious glance, and let her eyes trail down each painting as she walked down the hallway. 

“I’ll be waiting right here,” the guard announced, speaking low so he wouldn’t wake anyone else in the rooms nearby, “don’t try any funny business.”

She had none to try. She passed another painting of an old couple, followed by a middle aged man with bright blue eyes. All of them had blue eyes, just like the sky. As she and the guard reached the end of the hall, the paintings ended with a portrait of a handsome man with a blond beard. 

Byleth ignored the guard and stared at the painting. He was pale, hair like the sun and eyes like the sky. She wondered if this man really did look like that, or if the artist made him more handsome on purpose. As she stared, the guard nudged her with a hand, “Come on, kid.”

Back to business. Slowly, she turned around and raised her hand to knock on the door. The guard stood at her shoulder stiffly, hand on his lance and ready to kill the assassin if the need be. Byleth knocked, and stepped away to wait in nervous patience.

Under the crack of the door, a candle lit to life, golden and flickering. Her heart skipped a beat, suddenly nervous. She glanced behind her and frowned at the wet footsteps she’d left along the nice wooden floor of the hallway. Quickly, she tried to wipe her feet off, and run her fingers through her wind tangled hair. She felt the eyes of the handsome painting staring confidently at her back. 

While footsteps neared, she cast it a quick glance. The plaque underneath the frame read 'Lambert Egitte Blaiddyd' - a name so familiar, a name resting on the tip of her tongue. She furrowed her brows and turned her face back towards the door, wondering where and when she'd heard the name Lambert Egitte Blaiddyd, and why this man mattered. Obviously, he had to matter to be painted and hung up in the castle hallways. 

There was no more time to muse, as her heart skipped an uncomfortable beat in her dry throat. The knob turned, and even the guard looked nervous. Byleth put her hands behind her back and smiled - a forced smile - as the door opened. 

Rhea’s hair was piled into a heavy bun on the top of her head. Tendrils of mint green hair curled around her face - she looked perfect. She looked _so_ absolutely perfect. She had no dark circles, no ‘just woken up’ puffy eyes. Her lips curved into an expectant smile. 

Rhea was absolutely furious.  Byleth _knew_ that smile. 

That was the smile of absolute death. 

“Hello, grandmother,” her voice was steady, but small, she hated the sound of it, “I, uh… _surprise_!’

A blink. A moment of silence. The guard stared at her in wonder, most likely never having been this close to the Archbishop before. She was ethereal, in some ways, subconsciously inhuman. Yet, nobody would notice it if they did not know what they were looking for.  Rhea glanced at the gaping guard and raised a small hand to put her hair down over the tips of her ears. She was careful to always keep them covered, and to him it just looked as if she was fixing her hair. “What a surprise, indeed,” her smile grew, and Byleth flinched, “thank you, dear sir, for taking my granddaughter here to meet me.”

He saluted. He was stiff and hurried, his back straightened as if he was speaking to a strict teacher. His lips halted into a thin line while he gave her a curt, at-attention nod. She sent him a dismissive smile, sending him away with just a mere look. Her hand rested lightly on the small of Byleth’s back while she ushered her through the door. 

  
  


Byleth had ran around Fhirdiad in the absolute cold, but Rhea’s hand on her back was colder. She felt as if she couldn’t breathe when the door shut behind her. Rhea leaned against the wood, hands on the knob behind her back while she looked her heir up and down with emotionless, green eyes. 

Silence. Byleth had no air left in her lungs. 

“You’re wet.”

“Yeah…” her voice was slow, careful, “just, uh, a lot of mist outside... And snow.” And puddles, and slush, and falling onto a wet sidewalk after slipping on ice. 

Rhea ran her tongue along the bottom of her teeth, then popped her lips. It was casual, and something Byleth was used to. She oftentimes took on her grandmother’s mannerisms herself, the way she moved and held herself, the way she looked at people. She could never quite do it as well as Rhea did, though, turning out to be a less graceful copy of the older woman. 

It was mere silence between the two. Rhea eventually sighed and closed her eyes, her chest rising and falling beneath her white gown. She parted her lips to speak, and straightened her shoulders, “How?”

Byleth was entirely prepared. Through the silence, she had been mulling over possible explanations in her head, and crossed out _at_ _least_ three of them. She went with the first that laid on her tongue, and something that was nearly the truth, “I caught a ride.”

“With whom?” Her eyes opened and stared down into her. 

“You know…” she hadn’t thought this far ahead, “uh, people.”

“ _ Who _ ?”

“People.”

“Byleth.”

Enough playing. Her stomach churned in anxiety, “The supplies battalion…”

“The… supplies battalion,” she spoke the words on her tongue as if tasting them, “I cannot believe..." she stopped herself, biting her lip, "Goddess, do you have no thoughts in that head of yours?"

Byleth _thought_ she did, but apparently not. She stayed silent in response. 

Rhea sighed heavily, seeming to melt in her overly calm anger. She was a contradiction in itself, so calm, yet seething with the concerned rage of a mother. She grimaced, and exhaled through her nose, and closed her eyes as if she could erase Byleth's wet, shaking form standing in her guest room. "I suppose I should thank you for telling me the truth, at least.”

“Am I… in trouble?”

“Yes. You disobeyed a direct command from me.”

“Ah..."

“But,” she leaned forward, fingers resting under Byleth’s chin and raising her face to meet her eyes, now kneeling down on one knee in front of her, still frowning, “not right now. I will not punish you in this place.”

Confused, she furrowed her brows, “Why not?”

She sighed, “My focus in Fhirdiad is on the Blaiddyd family. The young prince has not been sleeping, and the King Regent is…” she mused, “not very good at his new job. Unfortunately, I cannot discipline you properly right now.”

It was only unfortunate for her. Byleth felt a sting of guilt at being immature, yet she would take what she could get. Acting now, and thinking later had paid off, at least for the moment. 

Rhea pulled away and stood up, more tendrils of green falling from the messy pile atop her head, “Come, let’s warm you up. You can wear one of my dresses for now.”

They would drag along the floor, and hang on her almost comically, but at least it was something dry. Rhea sat her down in front of the empty fireplace and went to work on pulling out clothes for her, while casting a casual hand towards the kindling and oil in the corner, “Start something, won’t you my love?”

Joy shot through Byleth's veins like lightning. Relief, exhaustion, and happiness, all curling up in her stomach like some sort of lovely soup. ‘My love’, a nickname that had been stuck onto her for as long as she could remember. She adored it, but frowned as if she hated it. She looked grumpy while gathering the kindling and setting it into a neat, breathable fire on the logs. Rhea approached with a long white dress made of thick cotton. She paused as she watched her heir, “Where did you get that cloak?”

Byleth froze and took in the evergreen scent that still lingered. She pulled back from her work and rested her hands on her knees, “I… found it.”

“...Where?”

The words rolled out of her mouth before she could stop them, “In the dumpster.”

Rhea’s irritation was imminent once more. The lovely, joyful stomach soup was gone, replaced with anxiety while she watched her grandmother frown in disgust. She lowered her head and rubbed the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger, scowling under her palm. Her brows furrowed as she sighed, “Byleth, take that filthy thing off.”

“I like it,” she wrapped it closer around her as if she could guard it with her body, “it’s not dirty, I promise.”

“It probably has fleas.”

“We can clean it when we get home!”

“You’re going to give _me_ fleas, Byleth.”

“I promise it doesn’t!” She felt entirely too foolish for this conversation. Sighing, she glanced away, refusing to look at her grandmother in her shame, “Truthfully, I lied.”

“Truthfully, you lied?”

“Yes,” she nodded, “a very kind person gave it to me.”

“...That is just as bad.”

“But I _demand_ to keep it.”

“Fine,” Rhea snapped in her overly soft voice, laying her white dress over the arm of the chair and frowning heavily, “but do _not_ it wear it again until we wash it. I hope, for your sake, that you are telling the truth this time. Heavens forbid if you lie to me again.”

“I would never!”

“I question your trustworthiness, my love.”

The nickname was a weapon, a reminder of what Byleth was to her. Her stomach swirled with guilt, making her nauseous as she returned to lighting a fire so she could be warm once more, and hopefully escape the cold of Rhea's tone. 

The Archbishop watched her with her chin held high. She was frowning the softest of frowns, eyeing the movement of Byleth’s winter stricken fingers. She still wore the wet boots, with her backside damp from having fallen. “You should get dressed, you’re going to get hypothermia.”

She stilled in her fire making movements, hesitating, “I just… really wanted to come with you.”

“I know,” a tired sigh, “I know, my love. Hurry up and get changed.”

So she did. Once the fire was lit, Byleth stripped from her cold, thinner clothes, and slipped the heavy dress over her shoulders. It was nice to feel something dry against her freezing skin, and to sit in front of the fire, Rhea beside her in comfortable silence. 

Even the inhuman Archbishop grew tired. She yawned and brushed another tendril of hair behind her pointed ear, so casually visible in front of her heir. Byleth had seen them before, and had the assumption that some people just had pointed ears, and that it was entirely normal. She was slightly jealous that her own had turned out round and small as could be. 

Rhea yawned again, her hand covering her mouth. Once she wiped her eyes, she stood from her place on the rug in front of the fire, “Let us sleep now, I have a big day ahead tomorrow.”

Byleth noticed the lack of ‘we’, but she would not question it. There had been enough tension in the air for the night, and she was far too tired to handle it any longer. She picked up the trailing ends of her big dress and joined Rhea in the bed, allowing her grandmother to wrap a loose arm over her waist and nuzzle her nose into her hair. 

“You smell like hay,” she murmured, “and wet dog.”

“Sorry,” Byleth whispered into the pillow, her back to Rhea, “I can’t help it.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry. I’m not bothered," her arm tightened around her waist, her voice growing more sleepy, “I am still angry at you, despite our cuddling."

Byleth frowned in the dark, "I thought so."

"But I ask that you just rest for now, and worry later."

"How could I rest when you're angry at me? Don't the scriptures say to not let the sun set on your anger?"

"The sun has not set for the day yet, it's very early morning. I have at least 15 hours before I have to forgive you."

"You're just as sneaky as me, Rhea."

"Shush," she whispered into her damp hair, "Sweet dreams, my love.”

“Sweet dreams... mom.”


	5. Potential

_ Scrape your knee: it is only skin _

_ Makes the sound of violins _

* * *

  
  
  
  


Byleth was correct in hearing the implication in Rhea’s voice last night. 

She had a big day, and it was not plural. 

Rhea was already dressed and ready by the time Byleth’s eyes opened to the bright morning sun. Irritated by the sudden intrusion on her vision, she tossed her forearm over her eyes and groaned, “Is it just me, or is it brighter here than Garreg Mach?”

“It’s the snow,” Rhea leaned into the vanity mirror and opened her mouth to apply her vial of lipstick, “don’t look at it straight on, you’ll go blind.”

Byleth tore her arm away, “Nuh uh!"

“Yes huh. I know many men who stared at the snow and went blind.”

“I think you’re lying.”

She pulled her lipstick away and sent her a mischievous smile - as mischievous as Rhea could possibly hope to look. “Why don’t you try and prove me wrong next winter at the Monastery?”

"Or, I could just go outside and prove you wrong right now.” It seemed like an entire blanket of white had been lain over the city while she slept. Outside of the balcony doors, snow piled itself against the glass. It sparkled like a reminder of just how far away from home she was - Garreg Mach rarely had snow higher than half an inch, they were not nearly high up enough on the mountains to ever truly know a high elevation winter.   


“Oh no,” Rhea pushed her stool away from the vanity and stood, capping the lipstick vial and dropping it into her travel bag, “you’re not leaving this room today.”

What?  


Byleth sat up in bed, her hair falling in loose tendrils around her cheeks. She blinked through her heavy, sleep crusted eyes, staring at Rhea across the room. She could not leave her room. She could not leave at all. The words sank in through the layers of disbelief clouding her mind. 

"Uh," how very intelligent she had been lately, with all of her stuttering and mindless droning, "what?"

“It’s part of your punishment, little one.”

She only used ‘little one’ when she knew it would irritate her. She _wanted_ to irritate her. Huffing, Byleth dumped herself back onto her pillow and covered her eyes with her elbow once more. the scowl that graced her lips was her small act of rebellion as she buried her body under the covers in an attempt to shut Rhea's image out of her vision, “How am I gonna go pee? Or get food?”

A knowing smile, a tilt of her head. Almost condescendingly, she pointed to a door across the room, “Restroom’s there, and I’ve scheduled to have food and snacks brought here to you. Do _not_ try to leave. I have two guards waiting outside the door, and one in the courtyard down below if you try to climb your way out.”

Dammit.  She knew her too well. Byleth had already been musing over whether she could scale her way down the wall or not. There was a trellis outside the window with vines and climbing roses living on them, now dried into harmless weeds that hung from the side of the wall due to winter. It would've been easy to swing off the edge of the balcony and use the trellis like a ladder to the bottom of the courtyard. It was for this reason precisely why Rhea never allowed any climbing vines to grow up the Monastery walls.   


“The coronation is today,” she announced, “I will be back this evening. There are plenty of books to read, and if you want to draw or do needlework just ask a guard to bring you something.”

Byleth frowned under her arm, eyes still closed against the invasive brightness seeping in from the balcony windows. Needlework, drawing, reading, all things she could care less about when in a foreign city, Fhirdiad was just _begging_ to be explored. “I’ll get some needles and stab all the guards with them and escape.”

“That would be very rude,” she frowned, “news has already spread that you're here, so you’re a representative of the Church. You _cannot_ make us look bad by stabbing your guards with a small sewing device.”

"I guess you have... a _point_." 

Byleth snorted, yet Rhea only sighed. She approached her heir in the bed and put a hand on her cheek, pursing her lips at the tangles of dark hair across the pillow. She was messy, her eyes puffy, with dried drool on her cheek. She looked just like Sitri did at the age of 12.  Rhea gulped, a wave of emotion nearly drowning her. “I’m sorry, but you must learn something. Your acts of rebellion have consequences, not only for you, but for others as well.”

The humor left her in an instant. Byleth crossed her arms and frowned, “Nobody's suffering here besides _me_.”

A motherly smile flitted across her lips, “I used to rebel like this as well, you know. I was such a punk.”

“...I don’t believe you.”

“But I loved my mother so much,” her voice lowered to a whisper, “and I wanted to make her happy, so I straightened up. I mean, age helps too, but,” she wiggled her nose like she would a baby, making Byleth swat her hand away, “try to not disappoint me, okay?”

All Byleth could offer was her tongue, stuck out of her mouth, with a crinkled nose and eyes squinted comically. Rhea laughed as she left the room. 

The air was clear, and Byleth could breathe again. The air was clear, as the sky always was before a fire’s smoke seeped in and clouded it’s beauty. The air was clear, and Byleth had no idea the wildfire that awaited her. 

* * *

She practiced her singing, she practiced her dancing - which remained awful - and she practiced her drawing. Her boredom would not leave her. 

Finally, she felt as if she knew a taste of what Flayn had felt in Zanado. This was far different than her room at the Monastery, where she had all of her books, her studies, her sewing, her training, her sword and, most importantly, her father.  Here, in a guest room in the castle in Fhirdiad, all she had were her own devices to entertain herself with. 

Boredom encouraged her to continue Flayn's train of thought and run away to join the circus, marry a tight rope walker and adopt a baby tiger. Yet, she wasn't entirely sure if she could live off peanuts. At least the thought was far more interesting than staring at the gaudy wallpaper for an hour.   


Only a day left until she would leave with Rhea, and her very first vacation would be over. 

“I’d have to be dragged back here,” Byleth informed her grandmother that night, sitting in front of the fire and letting her braid her hair, “It’s _far_ too cold for me.”

“Your father is from here,” Rhea ran her fingers through her hair, twisting it into a stubby, dark braid, “but that was a very long time ago.”

She sighed, “I don’t really care. It’s still too cold. I can’t believe anyone would willingly live here.”

A knowing smile, "You never know where you'll end up, my love. But hopefully, you'll stay with me in Garreg Mach forever."

"Ugh, sure. Anywhere but _here_."

Another day passed, and the afternoon was in full swing by the time Rhea was ready to depart. She said goodbye to the remaining Blaiddyd family while Byleth was escorted out of the castle by a battalion of armed guards. She felt like a criminal going to jail with how heavily they surrounded her.   


The air was still far too cold, but the daytime proved far more bearable than the small hours of the early morning. She bundled up the ends of Rhea’s borrowed dress around her wrist like the bustle of a wedding dress. Once again disobeying her grandmother, she wore the dark blue cloak over her shoulders. She knew that it would not give her fleas.   


While the King Regent knew of her presence in the castle, he respected Rhea’s decision to keep her in her solitude. Nobody besides a servant delivering food or bath water ever visited her, and they were hesitant to say even a word to her. Byleth eventually stopped trying to speak to them at all. 

She shuffled along with the guards surrounding her. They all kept their distance, forming a loose circle around her body. She could not hardly see past their moving forms to Rhea at the head of the throne room, speaking to a blond man wearing a crown, sitting in the King’s seat.  A soldier stepped in the way of her line of sight without realizing that she was trying to catch a glimpse of the most interesting thing happening. She could not do so subtly, and had no choice but to keep moving along with the guards, down the long room and out of the door. 

The outside world of Fhirdiad was even more bright than it had seemed from her window. It had snowed overnight, leaving everything covered in the shiny white powder. She shielded her eyes as she was escorted to the stables were the knights of Seiros waited for her. 

She ignored the looks of horror crossing several of the knight’s faces when they caught sight of her, her presence so obviously known to Rhea.  Shame curled up in her stomach. She frowned down at the ground while climbing up the steps into the carriage. She could only hope that they didn’t hate her _too_ much for lying. 

Eventually, Rhea joined her in the carriage. The door slammed shut behind her, and her grandmother wore a pleasant smile. It was a smile that was genuine, but spoke of the plans swirling in her mind. Byleth watched her position herself in the seat across from her, and open the book in her lap ever so casually.   


The carriage lurched, and she gripped the cushioned bench with her fingers. It bounced over the stones of the road, with the clop of horse hooves reaching her ears from outside. A command yelled from the leader of the knights was muffled through the walls.  Byleth bit her lip nervously, “Not traveling in two groups this time?”

Rhea didn’t bother to glance up from her reading, “No, not this time.”

“I don’t know how you do that,” she wrinkled her nose, “I’d get carriage sick.”

“When you’re old your brain becomes more stable,” she flipped a page absently, the smile still resting on her lips, “you get sick far less.”

Rhea was _far_ from old. She looked to be in her mid thirties, far younger than Jeralt, and even younger than Seteth. The only wrinkles on her face were the comforting laugh lines that appeared around her mouth when she smiled. Byleth never understood her jokes about being old, they were never true. 

Hours passed. Rhea kept on reading, with Byleth sitting across from her in silence. She slept with her head against the wall of the carriage, or her nose sticking out of the small window, watching the scenery. The silence was comfortable, and light.  Hours, upon hours. Byleth enjoyed the air against her cheeks, closing her eyes and letting it massage against her face. Behind her, Rhea flipped another page of the book, humming to herself in thought. 

The guards didn’t talk much, which was very different from the hay cart ride to Fhirdiad. The most humorous ones, with the funniest stories, stared ahead of the group with serious faces. The sound of their horses moving along the route was relaxing as they traveled. 

Her eyes began to close. It had been so long since they left Fhirdiad, and the air was heavy with sudden humidity. Half the day had passed in travel, and while the surroundings had not changed much, the weather was entirely different than the bite of the mountains.   


Her head rested against the window frame when the carriage rolled to a stop. Her eyes shot open with the unexpected movement, and she glanced around to inspect her surroundings. The knights outside of the door slid off their horses and stretched their sore limbs.  She pulled her head back into the carriage and sent Rhea a glance. She shut the book sharply, a frown on her face. Byleth’s heart skipped a hurried beat.   


“It’s time.”

“For… a potty break?”

“We're far enough away from Fhirdiad for me to teach you this lesson.”

Ominous. Her frown was as heavy as the humidity, yet Byleth reminded herself to be brave. It was Rhea, she could not be as scary as she truly wanted to. Byleth had never seen her so much as raise a hand to anyone.  A knight opened the door with a grim look. It was the leader of the battalion, the oldest, the one with the wife and kids whom he adored. None of the other knights looked nearly as grim as he did. Rhea climbed out, with Byleth hesitantly following. 

The ground was soft with a recent rain. The side of the road was still littered with rocks, cliffsides and evergreens. They seemed to have taken a mountain path wide enough to get several horses and a carriage down, yet Byleth could see the bottom of the cliff through the dead branches of the trees. They were dangerously close to the edge. 

She shifted in place uncomfortably and pulled away, fiddling with the sides of her dress as if she had pockets to hide her hands in, “What’re we doing here?”

“Well,” Rhea sighed, almost sadly, her eyes closing as if she was mourning an old friend, “you are going to learn that your actions have consequences.”

Byleth’s anxiety wanted to joke around, to make fun of the situation in the most sarcastic way possible. Was she going to throw her off the edge of the cliff? Leave her in the forest? It was only funny to Byleth, and went unsaid aloud. She knew that sarcasm would set her grandmother off further. 

So, she just watched, silent and cautious. 

Rhea opened her eyes to stare her down. Her frown was sad, but set. She knew what she was doing, as unpleasant to her as it seemed to be.  “You are a leader of people, Byleth. You will have _so_ _much_ responsibility when you’re older... do you understand that?”

A slow, hesitant nod. The knights behind Rhea stretched and took care of their horses, unaware of the growing tension. 

“Do you understand that you have responsibility for the lives around you?” Rhea questioned seriously, “Do you understand that your actions have consequences for the lives of those under your care?”

In retrospect, yes. She could only nod. 

“Do you understand that even _one_ decision you make could cost the lives of hundreds of people?”

No. Not at all. Retrospect could not imagine something of such extremities. Byleth stared blankly. 

She stepped forward. The ends of her dress brushed against the ground while she leaned down into Byleth, wrapping her arms around her smaller frame. Surprised, Byleth patted her shoulder, and slowly snaked her hands to her back to return the hug.  She was surprisingly warm. Her hands were always cold, like a corpse, but her body itself was warm. Almost _too_ warm with bridled energy humming beneath her skin.   


Rhea’s hand stroked the back of her hair, she had braided it just that morning, brushing it and grooming as a mother did for her child. They both took on those roles so wonderfully, so naturally. 

“I love you,” she whispered, “I just want you to live to your full potential, whatever that may be.” She pulled back to look into her eyes, “Your mother didn’t end up what I thought she’d be, but I loved her so dearly. She was my best friend, my daughter. I adore you just the same.”

Warmth bloomed in Byleth’s chest. She offered a small, rare smile, “Thank you…”

“And… that is why I am doing this. I just care for you,” lovingly, her cold fingers brushed against her cheek, “I want you to understand your role in life. I want you to understand what you may have to be when you’re older, if you  _ do _ realize your full potential.”

Byleth didn’t understand, yet Rhea pulled away before she could question it further. She mused over the words - full potential, and what she could be when she was older. She would just be Byleth, but taller, and perhaps wiser. Confused, she watched Rhea closely. 

The Archbishop sighed, and glanced over her shoulder at the grim knight captain, “Now, please.”

The ‘please’  _ almost _ made it polite. 

Instantly, the knights turned on each other. Hands reached out to grab the arms of the other knights, kicking and shoving and pulling. Pure chaos erupted like a volcano of shouts and yelps, bright armor flashing in the sunlight while they grappled with each other. 

Rhea looked at Byleth. She was the figure in front of the chaos, standing before the battle with her hands folded in front of her, and her chin raised. She looked down on Byleth, frowning softly. Behind her, one knight fell to the ground from a punch in the jaw. 

Byleth watched in horror as he was dragged up by his comrade and thrown against a line of trees, his back to the cliffside. He stumbled until he found his footing against the trunk of a cedar, bleeding red through his teeth. He was joined by the female knight who lent her a cloak when she was cold, also stumbling along with a bloodied nose. Then another knight, and another, and another.   


Until, Byleth realized the pattern. The horror. The fear. 

It was the group that escorted the supplies and livestock. It was the group that allowed her to come along, hiding in their barrels of hay. Every pair of eyes immediately zeroed onto her, staring with a mixture of confusion and hatred and resentment and _fear_.   


She wanted to throw up. She could’ve, if not for Rhea’s cold hand on her shoulder bringing her out of her mind and back to the moment. The Archbishop deigned to look down at her sickly heir. She stared at the line up of knights, her voice growing louder in the tone she only used for those who she believed deserved it. She was no longer soft. She was no longer her grandmother, beautiful and serene. She was a general of a battlefield that she had complete control over.   


“You _will_ pay for your crimes against the Church of Seiros. Say your prayers.”

Byleth heard herself let out a strangled, horrified cry before she could even think of the repercussions of arguing. Her mouth moved without her consent, “Crimes?” Her knees were weak as she clenched Rhea’s hand, tighter than ever, “ _Crimes_? What-”

She put a commanding hand in the air, and the remaining knights notched their arrows. Every arrow pointed at the chest of a knight. Rhea ignored Byleth’s gasp, “You have endangered Byleth with your careless actions. This girl,” she held her hand up between them like a weapon, “she is my family, and she could’ve  _ died _ under your care.”

Chins raised defiantly. Eyes burned towards Byleth with undisguised resentment. Nobody dared to defend themselves against the Archbishop's verdict.   


No tears came from Byleth’s eyes. Yet, she dropped to her knees, a rock lodged in her throat. She ripped her hand from Rhea’s and retreated into herself, her mouth and face contorting as if she was about to cry. 

Yet, no tears came. 

She felt like an absolute monster. 

Rhea looked down at her with a heavy breath of shock, as if she was confused why Byleth would react in such a way. She looked sad, but sure of herself. Her eyes held distraught for Byleth’s pain, yet she was in no way hesitant. “My love, one day you may make a decision that takes hundreds, _thousands_ , of lives. I am just trying to protect you from learning this in a far harsher manner."  


What could possibly be harsher than this? She couldn’t comprehend even the idea. “I-I,” she gasped for air, hands shaking in front of her. The ground was blurry beneath her knees as she lost control of her sense, “I w-will not  _ ever _ do that!”

Cry. Just cry. She wanted so desperately to scream and _cry_. She wanted to bury her face in the ground and pound the dirt and make the entire world shake alongside her.   


Five lives were about to be taken because she wanted a vacation. 

With a choked voice, she looked up, “Y-you cannot do this,” her voice shook with a mixture of anger and horror, “they didn’t know I-I was there.”

Rhea glanced down at her, not understanding the reaction.  Byleth  _ tried _ to meet her eyes. It was harder than ever, knowing the five pairs of eyes boring into her from the side of the road, watching her break down in the dirt and lose control over her own decisions.   


She was only 12, but that was no excuse for her. That was no excuse for the five lives. One of them was to be engaged, the other had a child. One of them loved cake so much that he wanted to save up and start a bakery. Another had just adopted a family into their house and was trying to support them.   


This could _not_ happen. Byleth clenched her fists and gasped for air once again, feeling pathetic on her knees in front of her grandmother. Yet, she could not let that stop her. She had to make it right, she had no other choice. 

“They didn’t know,” she stuttered, taking a deep breath in an attempt to calm her racing body, “T-They really didn’t. I snuck into the hay cart, and w-we were already too far away to go b-back. Please,” she felt pitiful as she clutched at Rhea’s skirts, “don’t kill them. I beg of you.”

A soft, motherly frown, “You cannot beg your way out of the consequences of your actions, my love. And they cannot be freed from the consequences of theirs. They have put you in danger. I cannot forgive that.”

Another deep breath, trying so desperately to steady herself, “Seiros… would forgive them.”

Rhea raised a brow at that. Slowly, stumbling over herself and her still swollen ankle, Byleth pushed herself off the ground. Her white dress was stained with the dirt of the road, yet she paid her disheveled appearance no mind. Her cheeks were red with anger, and shame, and fear. She looked mad, and not at all the image of the logical politician Rhea wanted her to be.   


“They…” she took another steadying breath, “they don’t deserve to die for something they had no consent to. They wanted me to go home, but… I was selfish. I-I lied to them, and I tricked them.”

Rhea glanced at one knight holding a notched bow, “Please, would you grab a water canteen for her?”

He nodded and left his station to fetch the needed item. Byleth nearly ripped it from his hands with her absolute eagerness, wanting anything to drain the rock stuck in her throat. 

“I’ve never felt like this,” she gasped as she pulled the canteen away, “I-I don’t understand, grandmother. I’m sorry, I just… They did _not_ consent to my selfishness.”

Rhea rested a hand on her shoulder, watching her gulp down more water in an attempt to dull her panic attack, “I would rather they have turned around and taken you home, than follow me to Fhirdiad.”

Another lie of Byleth’s. She _knew_ that, but had told the knights differently. She snuck a hesitant glance, and only earned accusing glares in return. Flinching, she quickly looked away, and handed the water back to the knight who had fetched it. Rhea watched with her lips set into a thin line. 

“Please,” her stomach churned anxiously, as the arrows were still notched and ready to fire any moment then, “I know you’re scared, but I’m alive. I’m alive, grandmother,” she begged, she pleaded, clutching her hand tightly once more, “they should not be punished for hypothetical what-ifs.”

“This is  _ your _ punishment as well, little one.”

“Rhea-”

“Enough,” her mind was set. She waved her hand harshly, “Get it over with.”

The whistle of bow strings releasing their tension. The sickening, casual way Rhea commanded for the death of five innocent lives. The frown on her lips. The wind rushing past Byleth's ears as she gasped, flinched, and screamed. 

“Stop!”

The voice that shouted inside of her mind was not her own, but the voice of a young girl. It rang through her eardrums and rattled her brain, running down her spine and to her fingertips. The change in her vision was immediate, colorful, and incredibly dizzying as it swallowed her whole.   


Byleth couldn’t help but fall to her knees once more. She covered her ears and shut her eyes, mouth opening in the sheer pain that coursed through her veins. A soft, “I’m sorry, it’ll get easier,” reassured her behind the whirlwind of rushing noise. 

Her stomach began to churn with sick nausea. She dropped her hands to the ground as the noise of wind rushing by began to lessen, quieter and quieter until it was a whisper that pulsated in the back of her mind. 

Eventually, after what felt like forever, she could bare to open her eyes without the road swaying beneath her. The colorful hurricane had chewed her up and spit her out onto the ground.  The air was thick with humid power, it seeped into her skin like moisture. She straightened her shoulders and glanced behind to find Rhea, standing in the same place, hand stretched out in front of her as she gave her command. Her mouth remained open, and unspeaking.   


Byleth’s heart skipped a beat. She looked to the knights, who were all frozen in the same manner. The arrows hung mid-air in front of them, on their way to lodge inside the chests of the innocent guards. While Byleth didn’t understand what happened, she found herself scrambling to stand up and toss the arrows to the ground, where they could hurt nobody. 

Sothis was in the back of her mind, the feeling of her presence was unmistakable. “I haven’t done this ages,” a tired yawn, “exhausting.”

“What happened?” Byleth felt herself whispering, as if anything louder would break the heavy silence of this frozen world.

“My power,” a giggle in the back of her mind, “I’m very talented, you know.”

“You have powers?”

“Have you really thought I was truly a ghost this whole time?”

Yes. But Byleth wouldn’t answer that. She simply sighed and stomped on the arrows on the ground, breaking the shafts apart in her frustration. “I just didn’t expect this - whatever _this_ is.”

“You’re acting rather calmly for someone who just paused time.”

“ _I_ didn’t pause time, that was you.”

“No,” she lectured in her condescending, high pitched tone, “you and I are connected, you know. You got so emotional that you ended up tapping into my divine pulse.”

She paused in surprise, blinking, “Divine pulse?”

“Hm… sounds like a cool name, right? I just made it up.”

That was true, it _was_ a pretty cool name. Byleth stared at the frozen world around her, right down to the tiniest of details. A frog was mid-croak nearby, with a bird in the branch above. A leaf had been stuck in the air as it fell from the tree. Byleth plucked it from the air and let it twirl down to the ground from her fingertips. “I’m really not calm,” she informed, “I’m just… taking it all in, I guess.”

“This feels so natural…” Sothis sighed in the back of her mind, “does it not? It feels like second nature.”

Like using utensils, or writing her name. It was second nature in the same way walking was, breathing, or singing. It was _comfortable_ , in a way, as if she had been doing it her entire life. 

“Can other people do this?” She was breathless.   


A scoff, “You think our power’s that common? You’ve got an odd sense of what’s normal, kid!”

How could she know if that was true, if her sense of normal was so convoluted? Sighing, with a flicker of irritation passing over her body once more, she spoke aloud, “What are we supposed to do _now_?”

Sothis returned to her serene demeanor, “Think of the moment you want to visit… and then it’ll happen.”

It seemed far too easy. Wanting to start small, she closed her eyes, mind dwelling on the image of the knights notching their arrows with serious expressions, her panic attack and Rhea’s insistence. The change in the air was instantaneous.  The hair on her arms and neck stood straight to attention while the wind blew around her. It seemed to pop her ears, as if she was on the peak of a mountain. She jumped at the sudden pop of pain, and opened her eyes. The knights were moving once again. 

Five sets of bows raised in the air, arrows taking their places. Byleth could understand why Sothis chose to call it a ‘pulse’ - it was as fast as a heartbeat. 

Byleth couldn’t think another thought. She didn’t know how if she could make the pulse happen again, and she did not _want_ to have to. She stepped forward and ripped the bow out of a knight’s hand, pushing him away with a flat palm against his chest. She threw it aside, ducked under his arm and grabbed the next bow in line, ripping it away from the person's grip.   


Shouts of surprise hardly reached her ears. Someone’s hands grabbed her waist to stop her, yet she struggled with every inch of her strength. Her feet were lifted off the ground, and she kicked wildly mid-air. Rhea was yelling behind her, her words unintelligible against the adrenaline in her veins. 

“Stop!” Byleth felt the flat of her foot make contact with someone’s nose - she didn’t want to hurt anybody, or be hurt in return, but she would rather someone have a bloodied nose than for five people to die under her care. “You need to stop!”

She was held with her back against someone’s chest, and strong arms around her waist. He leaned backwards so her feet would make no contact with any one else's face, keeping her still against him. Her heart raced in her ears, beating and drumming and overpowering every other noise around her. 

“I’ll fight to protect those under my care,” she announced,screeching while being wrestled into submission, “nobody has to die!”

She caught a blurry glimpse of Rhea’s white dress and green hair. She watched with wide eyes. Byleth elbowed the knight in the ribcage and he dropped her with a groan. Now, on two feet, she ran to the line up of captured knights, spreading her arms in front of them and standing her ground. 

She breathed heavily. Her waist and chest felt squeezed of air, but she could stand, and that was enough. Her eyes finally focused on the group of shocked men and women gathering themselves together. Every pair of eyes locked onto her with myriads of emotion - surprise and amusement and horror. The man who’s nose she had kicked with her boot was holding a dirtied rag to his face, eyes narrowed in contempt while he leaned over his horse. 

Rhea had her hands clasped. Her expression was blank, unreadable. Byleth avoided looking at her as she tried to catch her breath, arms spread apart, “I will _not_ allow anyone’s lives to be taken today.”

“Byleth,” the Archbishop whispered, face still frustratingly blank, “do you realize what just happened?”

She broke someone’s nose and probably got herself grounded for life. Staying silent, she glared. She would not give Rhea anymore ideas. 

“Your crest,” the Archbishop's expression melted so suddenly, so quickly, pooling together into a look of sheer excitement. Her brows knit together, her smile widened, and her eyes began to shine. Her hands clasped together in front of her chest as she took a step towards Byleth, “your crest activated!”

_Her crest_. 

That was impossible. She had no crest, and was told that she never would. The words sank into her mind, drizzling over her memory and trying to take root in some way that might make sense.   


Her crest. 

It explained why the knights looked so terrified of her. None of them had crests of their own, and were of the common belief that those with crests were far more powerful. If she didn’t have one, she would just be a brat who had assaulted them all. She was no simple brat in their eyes now, she was a crest holder. She was powerful to them. 

She didn’t _feel_ powerful, she felt useless. Her arms didn’t even stretch far enough to cover all the knights she protected, who had all taken a step away from her, looking like they were just as terrified as the others. She glanced over her shoulder at the female knight she’d borrowed a cloak from. She flinched once Byleth met her eyes. 

Rhea tangled her fingers together and smiled, “I see it now. I see your potential. It’s there. It’s why I did this, Byleth, to see what you could do, an-”

Her potential. 

Anger, fiery and violent anger. Byleth could barely even look at her beloved grandmother, the woman she thought of so maternally. Scowling, watching the knights flinch at her expression, she spoke through gritted teeth, “That is _no_ excuse to take innocent lives.”

Her expression of excitement fell into defense, “They were _not_ innocent. Imagine that you had gotten hurt, I would never know your true power.”

“You talk of power and potential,” she shouted, her voice louder than she had ever raised it, “If you didn’t know I could do this, what would I be to you? Would you still give a damn about me, Rhea?”

"O-Of... Yes." A beat of tense silence. Her lips parted, letting a shaky breath escape. She tilted her head, her expression pleading, trying to find answers in Byleth’s angry eyes, “Yes, of course. You are, and always will be, like a child to me.”

She wouldn’t let a second pass by with the frustration raging through her veins, “A child that you have mysterious plans for? A child where you only focus on potential and what I  _ could _ _be_ to you?”

Her words were like a smack to the face. Her eyes grew steely, mouth set into a straight line, “I am trying to keep you safe, Byleth. You don’t understand, you’re a child.”

Her knees grew weak once again, anger making her joints shake with excitement. The serene settings of the winter forest was far from the tension of the argument, everything be so out of place with Byleth's hurricane of emotions. The panic was gone, replaced with something far more powerful, “I don’t understand why you want to kill five innocent people! I _tricked_ them!”

Rhea, also, would not miss a beat in this argument, “Then you shall learn that your actions have conse-”

“ _You_ shall learn, Rhea,” she snapped, “ _you_ shall learn that I will defend innocent lives with my every breath, and that you cannot use the lives of others to teach a lesson. I do _not_ support this.”

Her mouth gaped in undisguised offense, “The church has been operating this way since the dawn of time! You have much to learn if you think this unrealistically about life!”

“That is enough!” 

Glowing silver, bright and shining, a symbol flashed in the air in front of her chest. It was like a warning, waved in front of the group so they knew what she could do, what was possible for her. The crest pulsated with power, and began to fade and dissipate into a mist after a beat of shocked silence. 

Rhea stepped back, fists clenched at her side. She was frowning heavily, eyes boring into the spot where Byleth’s crest disappeared. “It's the crest of flames.”

The crest of flames. She'd never heard that name before, and didn't think it was connected to any families she'd ever heard of. Byleth ignored her, not understanding what she meant, or how she even recognized the odd shape. Her knees shook with anger, “Let these people go. Let them live, Rhea.”

The Archbishop's eyes did not waver. They remained as hard and steely as ever, boring into Byleth’s shaking form as she stood in front of the retreating line of people. She was so small, so frail, even for her age. 

Rhea sighed, “Go back to the carriage, my love.”

“No.”

She blinked slowly, exhaling through her nose and closing her eyes, “Byleth, I give you my word that I will not have them executed. Now, go to the carriage.”

“How can I trust you?” A snap, a snarl, like a wild animal backed into a corner.   


Rhea opened her eyes to note the vulnerability reflecting in her granddaughter’s. They were big, and dark, and she looked far too much like Sitri for her comfort. She sighed and let the tension loosen in her shoulders, “I promise, Byleth. Please, just _go_.”

Byleth glanced over her shoulder. The innocent knights had taken to stepping away from her, hiding behind trees or moving to the side of the stand-off between the women, watching with shuffled feet and anxiously twiddling fingers. They looked nervous, wary, and stared at her as if _she_ was the one pointing an arrow at their hearts. 

Perhaps _that_ was the beauty of living her life in solitude: she didn’t make friends. She didn’t get attached to a group of knights and trick them into doing something to bring the Archbishop’s wrath, getting them nearly killed in the end. It was far more simple to just stay in the upper levels of the Monastery, reading books and being bored until the end of eternity. 

What a terrible fate. 

The realization was like water on a flame. It sizzled and died, turning into white smoke that only existed out of spite. She felt like she needed more wisdom, she needed to think things through, to not give into her impulses. She wanted answers to all the questions bouncing around in her mind, the questions that ate away at her chest.

Did Rhea really love her? Or was she simply a tool?

Her heart skipped a beat in despair. Rhea was like her mother, the person she adored next to Jeralt. Sighing, Byleth lowered her hands in subdued defeat, and stared at the wet ground beneath her feet. Without another word, she slipped past the wary guards and made her way to the open door of the carriage waiting behind them.   


Pleased that she was obeying for once, Rhea followed. She was even more serene and calm than ever before. She didn’t smile, yet she did not look angry. She was simply there, lost in her concerns as she followed Byleth back into the carriage, eyes stuck onto her slouching shoulders.   


Silently, the two left the wary knights behind. As Rhea sat on the cushioned bench and closed the door, the leader of the knights stuck his head in through the small window, “My lady, what shall we do with them?”

“Nothing,” she forced a polite smile, “let them do as they wish.”

“Are they… released from service?”

“Yes.”

Byleth’s head shot up. The words ran through her ears and to her heart, filling her with guilt and shame as she stared at Rhea’s pleasant expression, “You’re firing them?”

“At least they are not dead, my love.”

“Goddess,” she ran her fingers through her hair while the knight closed the window, leaving her and Rhea in the dim of the carriage together, “that’s bad too.”

“You understand my decision, correct?” Rhea questioned, her hands folding properly in her lap, “I saw the future, Byleth. First, they take you to Fhirdiad, and what happens after that? Do they take you into battle? Do they allow you to trick them once more? To push them around?”

Shame ate at her stomach, “I didn’t push them around-”

“You _did_ ,” she answered heavily, “you used trickery and intimidation to get what you want. I understand that you’re young, but in your position you cannot afford to act that way! Those men and women were an example,” she slowed in her lecture, staring down the ashamed girl across from her, “now, the other knights know to not assist you in your rebellion.”

“I don’t like being used that way…”

“ _They_ didn’t like being used either, Byleth.”

Frustrating. Frustrating, and correct. 

She would never understand the urge to take lives for the sake of a lesson, and the relief to have avoided that was immeasurable. Byleth could at least take solace in the fact that they were alive, despite the loss of their jobs and most likely banishment from the Monastery. She had simply never expected to see Rhea react in such an extreme way. Act now, and think later was a terrible way to live.   


She was exhausted. The panic attack left her throat dry, and her stomach churning nauseously. Sothis had been silent since the divine pulse, not even sitting in the back of her mind and listening as she usually was. The excitement of it all was beginning to sink in as Byleth realized what she had truly done. 

She had rewinded time. 

Was that the potential Rhea thought she had? Was that the one thing she was looking for? And was the crest of flames somehow connected with stopping time? 

She had never heard of that crest before, and she knew that she was not a noble. Her father was a commoner, and her mother a nun. There was nothing special about her family, besides Jeralt’s crest of Seiros, but even that was not naturally given to him at birth. 

She looked at Rhea, who was staring at her. Outside of the carriage the knights shouted commands to each other, while the wheels began to move and bump across the road once more. It was almost calming, the clop of horse hooves and the passing scenery, if not for the heavy tension filling the spaces between them. 

Byleth tried to gulp the nervousness away. Rhea watched her closely, "Are you feeling better?"

No. She didn't think she'd ever feel better than she did before this. Her hands shook, and her knees remained weak as she sat. She wanted to lay down and sleep the memory of the almost-execution away. She closed her eyes and remembered the image of five arrows pointed at the chests of innocent men and women, and the fear in their eyes. She could hear Rhea's casual command to take their lives. She could feel the power of the divine pulse behind her quivering fingertips. The feelings would not leave her, no matter how deeply she prayed for relief.   


"Rhea," she opened her eyes and tried to swallow the rock that was stuck in her windpipe, “Tell me something.”

Hesitant, she tapped her fingers on her thighs, "...Yes?"

"Do... Do you love me for me?"

She watched closely as Rhea dug her fingernails into her palm, leaving half moon crescents in her skin. Her lips twitched, and her brows knit together. Her posture fell into a loose, uncomposed position as she leaned forward to reach for Byleth’s hand, “I… I do. I really do.”

“Why do you look so sad answering that?”

She rubbed her thumb across the back of Byleth’s hand. Her voice had dropped to a pained whisper as she leaned forward. “Because... my mind is going to both the worst, and the best, possible scenario. I realized this as I saw your crest activate, and noticed what it was.”   


Her answer was ominous, as they usually were. Byleth pulled her hand away, still wary of her, “What?”

“My dear girl,” Rhea brushed a lock of choppy, dark hair behind her ear, “one day, something may happen to you. You may become someone else.”

"Stop trying to change the subject," Byleth's voice quivered in thinly disguised anxiety, she despised how she sounded to her own ears. She felt weak, too effected by her emotions and controlled by a power she didn't know she had. “You've... you've really hurt me today."  


A soft silence, followed by a shaky sigh. Rhea hung her head, "I'm so sorry, Byleth. I... I am not a perfect individual, but I'm trying. I... really want to try my best.  I don’t know what will happen in the future,” she whispered tenderly, “but you may become someone that I love very much, very differently than how I love you. I have been waiting for her for so very long.”

“Is that… the best scenario that you mentioned?"  


“Honestly… yes,” she closed her eyes.

“And the… worst?”

A heaving sigh that ran from her mouth, to the floor, melting out of her and cutting the tension like a knife. She opened her eyes, revealing a dam of tears threatening to break down her cheeks, “The worst part of it all is that I will lose  _ you _ , Byleth Eisner.”

“I…” she wasn’t sure what to say through her heavy mixture of confusion and fear. Her tongue felt heavy as she forced the words forward, “I don’t want to be anyone else.”

“I don’t want you to either,” Rhea rested her forehead against her granddaughters, a tear now trailing down her cheek and to her neck, “I would miss you very, very much, my love.”

“I-I’m sorry I broke your rules.”

“It’s okay,” a soft, reassuring smile as she petted back her hair, foreheads resting on each other and eyes closed, “I forgive you. And I am sorry for making you panic.”

“It’s okay… It’s okay, I promise.”

“Promise me another thing?”

“Yes?”

Rhea pulled away and dabbed at her eyes with the edge of her white sleeve. She looked heavenly, even when crying. So unnatural in her stillness, with her pointed ears and her vibrant eyes. She offered a sad smile that matched the pillowy softness of her tone, light and airy as she lulled Byleth into comfort.   


“Never, _ever_ , break my rules again. Okay?”

Byleth found herself agreeing before she could give it a second thought.

"Okay."


	6. Jeralt

_What, if some day or night a demon were to steal after you into your loneliest loneliness and say to you: 'This life as you now live it and have lived it, you will have to live once more and innumerable times more' ... Would you not throw yourself down and gnash your teeth and curse the demon who spoke thus? Or have you once experienced a tremendous moment when you would have answered him: 'You are a god and never have I heard anything more divine.’_

* * *

**Imperial Year 1180**

**Great Tree Moon**

**5 Years Later**

“Here’s the first sprouts of the new year, kid. They’re the luckiest kind, you know.”

The luckiest kind, he says, the luckiest of _all_ the lucky flowers. He had dirt smudged on his fingers and morning dew on his boots. He was divine in the immortal way that only fathers could be. 

It was too bad that Byleth didn’t believe in luck - she saw no reason to. 

But she _did_ believe in flowers. Oh, how _deeply_ she believed in flowers. 

“Snowdrop,” she held the delicate stem between her fingers, inspecting the drooping white petals in the sunlight streaming through her bedroom window, “hope, purity, and new beginnings. Are you trying to tell me something, father?”

Jeralt rubbed the back of his neck and shuffled in place. He had tracked mud into her room, but that would never bother her; there was nothing he could do that ever would - besides chewing with his mouth open, that drove her insane _so_ thoroughly that he often did it on purpose. Fathers were special creatures in that sort of way. 

“It’s just the first one I found popping up,” outside of the greenhouse, at least. He never entered that building unprovoked, it was too hot and it always made his allergies act up, “I can never remember what they mean.”

Softly, she offered the most subtle of smiles, “Well, they’re beautiful. Thank you.”

Byleth ignored his eyes lingering on her as she searched for a vase on her bookshelf. She had so many, tall and small, wide and thin - she was prepared for _any_ type of flower he brought her. She picked out a thin, glass vase and popped the stems of the snowdrops inside, while Jeralt stared across the room with his furrowed brows and sad frown. 

She could feel him watching her. Sighing, she set the vase down by the window, “You’re doing it again.”

“Sorry kid,” his eyes averted immediately, “you just surprise me sometimes.”

It was always something different. Last week it was with how long her hair had gotten - which was not very long at all. The week before it was about her size (“Have you lost weight? You should eat more, are they starving you? I’m gonna let that chef have a piece of my mind!”). Her height had also been included several times, along with her nose, her teeth, and even the length of her fingertips. 

Jeralt seemed consistently shocked at the fact that he had a 17 year old daughter. She had only turned 17 just a month ago, yet he had acted the same when she turned 16 as well. And 15. And 14. The entire idea of the baby that used to chew on his hair growing into adulthood sent him into an odd mixture of surprise and grief each time he mused on it. 

All of this was combined with the heart-aching reality that his child had grown to look just like her mother. She even lectured him on the language of flowers in the same way Sitri did, right down to a T. 

Sometimes, he couldn’t help but stare. It was all he could manage to do when his throat tightened in that way, and when his heart seemed as if it might fall from his chest and roll across the floor. 

He sighed, forcing his heart to move on and _not_ to drop to the floor and gather dust bunnies under the furniture - that sounded terribly unsanitary anyhow. “What could I possibly be trying to tell you with a flower that I couldn’t just say with my mouth?”

Byleth dripped water from her cup into the vase, careful to not allow it to spill on her wooden table. She watched with intensity in her eyes, biting her lip and knitting her brows. Distracted, she answered him, “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe you’re trying to give me a hint about my purity or something. Seteth’s been lecturing me this year harder than ever.”

“Well,” he crossed his arms, “you _are_ 17\. It’s about that time.”

She straightened her shoulders and stared at him with defense coloring her features, “Time for _what_ exactly? I’m afraid I can’t follow you and uncle’s asinine thought patterns.”

He spread his hands out in front of his chest, “ _I_ started getting into girls at 17. Right now, you think you’re an adult and that you can make decisions for who you want to be with forever, but in reality you just act on impulse and never think through your actions."

“I do _not_ act on impulse, and I _always_ think through my actions." 

She did not. Jeralt would not comment on that particular point, instead defending himself further, “I’ve seen many a soldier throw his future away for some ass!”

“Father!”

She was smiling under that hand of hers, no matter how offended she acted. She was resisting the urge to laugh alongside him. “Classes start this month and there’s gonna be a lot of boys wandering around. You don’t understand how quickly these things can happen, and then you’re unhappily married to someone you don’t even know.”

Dropping her hand to her side in amused frustration, she huffed, "I'm not planning on dating anybody, so you don't need to worry."

She set the water cup down and sat in her cushioned chair by the window, basking in the light that streamed in through the sheer curtains. Her hands folded in her lap in a way not dissimilar to how Rhea would look, proper and elegant. The only difference was the slack of her shoulders, and the choppy hair that was so obviously cut with a dull knife. All of it was so _un_ -Archbishop-like. Jeralt couldn’t help but be proud at the small changes between her and _that_ _woman_. 

Byleth spoke gently, with an airy way about herself, as if she was constantly day dreaming. She’d always spoken with her eyes aimed over his shoulder, to the corner of the room, at her arm, as if she was watching someone that he couldn’t see. And perhaps she was - the kid was weird, he wouldn’t question it if she _did_ see things he couldn’t. 

Now, she stared past his shoulder, frowning. “And you're too late anyway, Seteth said much of the same thing,” she sighed and closed her eyes as if she was annoyed, “‘Hormones can be very tricky, Byleth, you must keep a constant hold of yourself’ - he said, as if I would ever even leave this room to meet people in the first place.”

“Do you... “ hesitance, he knew what happened last time she tried to slip past the guards, “ _want_ to leave this room?”

Byleth looked away so all he saw was her waterfall of dark hair, layered unevenly around her ears. She shifted so she faced the table, resting her elbow atop it and watching the snowdrops in the little vase in front of her. Her ankles crossed below her chair as she put her chin in her palm, frowning, “I’ve got a lot of stuff to do here.”

That wasn’t an answer to his question, and it was not nearly as clear as he wanted. It was unfortunate that he had no time to argue further on the subject, as he could continue to do so all day if given the chance. He had only stopped by for a minute to drop off the flowers before he had to return to his classroom and start his preparations. Sighing, he ran a calloused hand through his hair, “Call me if you ever want a break, kid.”

A hum. She had closed her eyes once more. 

“I’m gonna be busy this year teaching those brats,” grit entered his tone as he thought of having to deal with a crowd of spoiled nobles, “can’t yell at ‘em as much as soldiers, I might get banned from an entire country if I do.”

“It’s the Lions,” she glanced at him, brows knit together, “they wouldn’t keep you from your own home country, would they?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, “I haven’t been there in ages. Maybe they’re all stuck up now.”

“I doubt it, last year’s class was wild.”

Not that she had seen them in person, or met any of them. She relied on Sothis to float around the campus and return to her at the end of the day with any news, her stories being so detailed and descriptive that Byleth felt as if she’d seen it for herself. 

Last year’s Blue Lion class was the loudest, rowdiest group the Academy had seen in a while - or so she was told. They scared off at least three professors, flooded the saunas, started food fights in the dining hall, and a drank a copious amount of beer that put the local tavern out of business for a week, despite only being teenagers. Byleth heard of their animal skin coverings and rude mouths, how they had been taught to fight from the earliest of ages, and how many of them very rarely bathed. 

It sounded absolutely terrible. Jeralt could only smirk at the recollection of the chaos of the year before, “Yeah, classic Faerghusian traditions with that group.”

“Setting a building on fire and claiming it was a pagan ritual is a classic Faerghusian tradition?”

“Oh yeah, I grew up doin’ that stuff.”

“You’re just pulling my leg now.”

A little, but it wasn’t _too_ far from the truth. Faerghus was known for it’s quirks. 

“I should go,” he offered a tired smile, “I’ve got to get the classroom all prettied up for them, I guess.”

She cast him a glance, cheek resting in her palm. She simply looked bored, as she always did. “Don’t let them use you for target practice.”

“I’ll try my best.”

“Stay safe,” her expression softened, melting like ice under the sun, “don’t get too overwhelmed.”

“I won’t.”

“And don’t yell at them, they’re not soldiers.”

“I’ll try-”

“And don’t-”

“Didn’t you say you were busy?”  
  


He had turned towards the door with his hand on the knob, looking at her over his shoulder. They met eyes, and his smirk grew as her worried expression fell into another disappointed frown. 

She always tried to hold on for as long as she could. There was so much she wanted to know, so many questions she had. 

“I’m glad you’re teaching now,” it was an admittance, something she had been wishing to say ever since he broke the news of his retirement from being the knight captain, “you’re getting too old to go on those missions for weeks at a time.”

Jeralt shook his head and opened the door up, stepping out in the hallway and avoiding the suspicious stare of the door guard. They always looked at Byleth’s visitors as if they were all future suspects in her murder trial. Jeralt ignored the stare and nodded his head towards his daughter, “Glad to hear you think I’m old.”

“I’ve never hid that fact, have I?”

“Bye, kid.”

“Stay safe.”

_And I love you. Father, I love you a lot._

The door shut without another word. She listened to his heavy footsteps tramp down the hallway, until they faded. The knight standing in the hallway outside of her door shifted, his armor tapping against itself while he returned to his position. 

Snowdrops, new beginnings and purity. She frowned at their white petals and thought of Seteth, his lectures, and how much she and Flayn made fun of him behind his back. He had even brought in a nice chalkboard to demonstrate the cycle of hormones and the disaster they perpetuated. This, along with a verbal demonstration of the dangers of bad association and peer pressure, was repeated at the start every new year. 

Students would come to Garreg Mach, hear the rumors about the Archbishop’s heir that nobody ever saw, and then leave without ever meeting her. Byleth would listen to Sothis’s stories of the antics on the campus, and try her best to feel a part of something. 

After spending her entire life this way, it really was becoming more tiresome. Seteth could tell she was restless, and thus, the intensity of his lectures increased - now including an awkward reminder that, no, neither Byleth nor Flayn were allowed to date anyone. 

And still, her adoptive sister had so much more freedom, despite Seteth's overprotective nature. How many people would Flayn meet? She had made so many friends the year before, even amongst the rowdy Blue Lions class. 

Byleth was infuriatingly jealous. 

And feeling as if she was about snap, as if something was about change, as if she was about to walk out of the Monastery and never come back. 

“New beginnings,” she murmured to the silent, white flower, “I don't know, maybe you're a sign. I guess we'll see."

  
  


* * *

By ‘get his classroom ready’ Jeralt _truly_ meant ‘find good hiding spots for alcohol’. 

And there were not very many. 

He managed to stuff a bottle of moonshine into a drawer on his desk, but there wasn’t much space for anything else to fit. This was along with the storage closet where he placed a bottle of whisky, and the shelves on the side of the room where his vodka sat behind several large books. Everything else about the class was too infuriatingly open and wide, and his students knowing where his stashes were was the last thing he wanted - their greedy little hands all over his well-earned liquor, drinking it up with no taste or appreciation of the complexities of it’s quality. 

There was also the fact that he would lose his job if they did that, but that was besides the point. 

He sat behind his desk in the large, cushioned chair that he’d brought in - it had lumbar support for his aching back - and slammed the small drawer shut over the bottle. It caught on the middle, and Jeralt swore as he dug inside of it to rearrange the mess he had already made. 

“Dammit,” he attempted to slam the drawer shut once more, “get in there, you asshole.” Another slam, the desk rattled. Slam. Rattle. Slam. A stream of curses. Another slam. 

“Uh… Professor?”

_Dammit_. 

Instantly, Jeralt shoved a stack of parchment over the drawer, covering the liquor bottle that was so clearly shoved into the small space. His lips formed an automatic frown as he looked up to the student, “I didn’t hear you come in.”

The large double doors at the entrance remained wide open, anybody could’ve snuck in. And he was abusing his desk so harshly that it could easily cover up the sound of boots approaching across the room. Even so, this boy was far too quiet for his liking, standing in front of him with his hands clasped behind his back, and the most polite of smiles gracing his lips. 

He didn’t smile with his teeth, but his eyes were genuine. He tilted his head as his gaze flickered to the papers Jeralt had stuffed over the obvious bottle of moonshine, then back to his face. “I apologize, I should’ve announced myself.”

“Yeah,” he grumbled, “just try to not do it again.”

A slow, musing nod, “I… will try my best. I know that you’re most likely very busy,” his eyes flickered to the drawer once more, his brows furrowing for half a second in something akin to amusement, “but I heard you were here and I wanted to introduce myself.”

He _heard_ he was here? Where else would he be? And who could he have heard that from? Sometimes, Jeralt wondered if those damn owls Rhea loved so much could talk and he had just never noticed, as the rumors and news spread like wildfire in Garreg Mach. _Someone_ had to be spreading it. 

And it was made more odd because classes didn’t start for another four days. Most students didn’t arrive until the day before, or even the day after. The campus was still relatively empty, even this close to the start of school. Jeralt blinked in thought, confused, and in slight disbelief about just who this weird kid was, with his silent steps and his polite smile. 

“Okay,” he released the parchment covering the liquor bottle and sat back in his chair, leg crossing over his knee casually, “Who’re you?”

He raised a gloved hand to his chest and bowed, short, sweet and entirely too proper for Jeralt’s taste. He rolled his eyes while the kid had his head down. “I am Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, and I am honored to be learning under you this year.”

_Blaiddyd_. How wonderful.

If not for the name, he wouldn't of believed it. This guy had to be from Adrestia, he was too _pretty_ and polite and clean for Faerghus. Even to be a Blaiddyd, the most famous name in all of the North - he still didn’t fit the bill. 

Jeralt leaned forward and rested his arm on the desk, “So you’re tellin’ me that _you’re_ part of _my_ class?”

His brows knit together under the choppy hair that covered his forehead. He looked to be uncomfortable under the blue cape hanging off his shoulder, it was like a flag that screamed of his status, “Uh, yes?”

“You?” Jeralt pushed forward even more in his disbelief, “No, no. You’re too normal.”

“Well,” he caught on quickly, shifting his weight uncomfortably and clasping his hands behind his back, shoulders straightening, “Faerghus has actually advanced quite a lot since you’ve served there. I believe Seteth mentioned that you’ve been a knight of Seiros since 1133. We’ve implemented the kingdom-wide use of real utensils since then.”

Jeralt huffed a short, humorless laugh, “A dagger is still the best way to tackle a steak.”

“Agreed,” a bashful smile, “but a fork and table knife are far less messy.”

He had a point, and Rhea had specifically asked him to stop brandishing his dagger at the dining table anyhow. Sighing, he leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, “Well, just don’t give me any trouble.”

Dimitri straightened up, almost as if on command, “Of course! I know many of my classmates personally, and they’re all very well behaved… except, perhaps, one of them, but I don’t believe you’re his type.”

Jeralt raised a brow. The prince simply shuffled, smiling to himself over his joke but not allowing a laugh. He cleared his throat to attention once more, “Anyway, I did not come here _only_ to introduce myself. A peer of mine was wondering about the syllabus, and as class leader I told her I would retrieve it.”

Syllabus? Jeralt wasn’t someone’s type? There were other students _already_ at the monastery? 

Odd. 

He blinked, “How many of my class are here already?”

“Hm,” he thought for a moment, “everyone, I believe.”

Everyone. The entire class in the Academy several days before the classes even started. What kind of children were these? “Don’t you all have lives?”

The prince looked as if he didn’t understand, merely blinking in surprise. He stood still with his hands behind his back, yet he did not look down on Jeralt, as nobility often did. His chin was not raised in the air, and his eyes remained genuine, even when taken off guard. “Is this not normal?”

“I didn’t expect my class to be so eager,” he offered a shrug, “usually the students wait to arrive at the last minute.” 

Dimitri frowned, “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“No need to apologize,” a chuckle escaped as he leaned into the chair, watching the boy standing on the other side of his desk - his name was so long, Jeralt had already forgotten everything other than the ‘Dimitri’ part. “So, the syllabus.”

He sighed. He had no syllabus. Hanneman had told him to make one, but he never got around to it. Reaching for his quill, he dropped a blank piece of parchment on his desk and dipped the end of the quill into a vial of ink. Dimitri watched with curious blue eyes. 

Jeralt cast him another quick glance. He looked just like Lambert. He remembered seeing the late King give an address to the knights in Arianrhod, he spoke with confidence and dignity, his hands clasped behind his back much like his son in that moment. 

The future of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus stood at his desk, watching him write. Jeralt snorted to himself as he scrawled out the bullet points in blocky script. 

  * Learn to fight
  * Don’t die
  * Don’t be loud



Jeralt held the paper out and watched Dimitri take it from his hands. His eyes narrowed as he read, brows furrowing, “ _This_ is the syllabus?”

“Short and sweet,” Jeralt nodded, “go ahead and give that to your friend.”

The prince looked up, blinking in confusion. “Edelgard got three pages for her class.”

He didn’t know who Edelgard even was, but she must’ve been under Manuela in the Black Eagles. What Dimitri didn’t seem to know was that Manuela’s three page syllabus was simply a biography of her life in the opera and how wonderful of a diva she was. Jeralt’s three bullet points had more information about the year ahead than anything on Manuela’s. 

He waved an uncaring hand, enjoying the look on Dimitri’s face, “That’s what you get, kid.”

He folded the paper in half, looking uncertain. 

“This year is certainly going to be… eventful.”

  
  


* * *

Byleth had a daily schedule, and she kept to it very well.

After waking up and getting ready, she would eat breakfast on her balcony with her father. Then, she would have her tutoring in songs, scripture, history, and economics, along with her sword training and healing practice. After all of that, she would have dinner with Seteth, Rhea, and Jeralt, and then visit Rhea’s room for late evening tea. 

It was a simple life, meticulous and busy in the worst of ways. Byleth could recite the history of Fodlan in exact order, but she could not speak to anyone her age. Byleth could sing every hymn in the Seiros religion, but she could not hold a conversation. Byleth could give rousing speeches and say prayers for the weak, but she could not have a friend other than her closest family. 

Simple, and busy, and meticulous - and incredibly boring. 

Late evening tea was one of her favorite parts of the day. It was calming to sit on Rhea’s bed with a warm cup in her hand, letting the ginger flavors pool inside her stomach and calm her down after her infuriatingly slow day. Rhea would read to her, or tell her stories of what happened in the Monastery. It was calming, to be with her and talk.

Rhea had set aside her tea cup and was running her fingers through her daughter’s hair. A fire crackled in the corner, yet they would not need fires much longer, for Jeralt had found a snowdrop peaking up through the light frost - the year had begun anew, and it would be far too warm for fires soon. 

Byleth sighed as Rhea tugged at her hair and folded it into each other. Behind her, the woman frowned, “You should grow it out longer, you’d look lovely.”

“It would take more work.”

“But you’d look so pretty,” she braided another piece and tossed it over her shoulder, “I could do more intricate styles with it longer as well.”

The braiding and the brushing was nice, but when Rhea and Flayn ganged up on her with pins and combs the experience always proved far less pleasant. Byleth sighed, “It’s not like I ever leave my room, why bother fixing it?”

Rhea’s slender fingers paused. Byleth felt her stiffen behind her, her breath slowing as she went silent. “Are… you okay, my love?”

The sweet nickname was back, she still adored it. It was nice to know that she was someone’s love. She regretted her frustration moving her to speak so carelessly. “I’m fine, I promise.”

“I know you are lying to me.” Rhea’s fingers continued in their braiding, tucking uneven pieces back in and humming to herself as she worked. She always knew when she was lying, she said it was her superpower.

A sigh, “Yes, I am.”

“Honesty is a virtue, Byleth.”

Honesty was a virtue very little people possessed, herself included. It was just so damn hard, especially to Rhea. Sighing, she tilted her head back into her hands and stretched her neck, messing up the braids that hung from her head. Rhea tsked and nudged her forward so she could start her work once again.

A heaving sigh and a roll of her eyes, “I’m just so bored.”

“We’ve had this conversation before, love.”

“Yes, yes,” the dramatics had arrived, Rhea always said she was far more melodramatic than Sitri ever was, “its my own fault if I’m bored.”

“You have books,” she tugged at her hair, pulling it all together into one braid trailing down her shoulders, “you have canvases to paint on, and instruments. I haven’t heard you play harp in so long, I used to love my private concerts.”

“You said I sound like a dying cat.”

“That was a joke, Byleth.”

She turned around, interrupting her braiding once more. Rhea frowned in irritation as she pleaded, “Grandmother, I don’t think you understand how _good_ I am at swordplay. I’m better than the knight you’ve assigned to guard me.”

“Oh?” She raised a brow, “then I shall have to replace him.”

“And I’ll be better than _him_ too!” Byleth huffed, “Rhea, I can take care of myself.”

“You’ve never even been in a real battle before, Byleth. Training is not the same as life or death.”

“We are in a city surrounded by literal soldiers, mages, and classes full of people who train every single day. Even if I am ever attacked in the street there are people to come to my aid!”

“You don’t know that.”

She was being unreasonable. Byleth’s scowl could’ve killed. “I want to leave the monastery, I want to meet people.”

“And _I_ want you to be safe.”

“I understand that," she conceded, already feeling exhausted from their weekly argument over her freedom, "But what’s the point of me being your heir if I’m never going to actually help people and make connections?”

Rhea's patience began to wear thin, as it always did when Byleth begged for something she couldn't have. She rubbed the bridge of her nose and pulled away, the mattress complaining underneath her while she slipped to the other side and put her feet on the floor. With her back to Byleth, she answered, "This is for your own good, it's to save yourself and the others around you. Plus, you have _other_ responsibilities.”

“And you never tell me what they are!”

A tired glance cast over her shoulder, furrowed brows with her lips parted in a breathy frown, “It'll be clear in due time.”

“Can you stop being ominous for just _one_ second?”

That was it, the end of her already tiny rope. “Can _you_ stop arguing with me?” Her snap was loud against the usual quiet of the room. The fire flickered as if it responded to Rhea’s emotions, threatening to escape from the confines it burned in. She very rarely would raise her voice to Byleth, and was rarely given a reason to. The arguments always left her exhausted afterwards. 

She reached for her tea, and frowned upon feeling it’s coldness, “I’m going to go grab more water for the kettle,” she slipped off the bed and made her way to the door, with Byleth’s cold eyes watching her, “I’ll be right back.”

“Yeah,” a sarcastic, biting tone, “just ignore my feelings completely and go get more water. That’s _exactly_ what you should do.”

Her words went ignored with dignity and elegance. Rhea, kettle in hand, left the room and shut the door behind her with a click. 

Byleth had enough. It was time to act. 

Frustrated, she pulled out the loose braid from her hair and stood from the bed. Leaving her cold teacup where it sat on the table nearby, she wrapped a cloak around her shoulders and made for the door, determination set on her face. 

Once Rhea returned, she would be gone.

There was never a guard in front of the Archbishop’s door, and the one that was usually at Byleth’s heels had retired for the night. It was a rare occurrence that she would be alone long enough to make an escape such as this. 

She stepped out of the room and peaked down the hallway. The small kitchenette beside the war room was around the corner, and several doors down, so Rhea would not catch a glimpse of her. Byleth shut the door as quietly as she could, heart racing with excitement. 

Down the hallway and to the staircase at the end, around the corner. She ran heel to toe, the way Jeralt had taught her if she ever needed to be silent in a hurry - not that she usually did. This was her first time trying anything so risky. As much as her father wished for her freedom, she never dared to carry out the pieces of advice he had given her. Yet this time, for once, they would be used. 

‘Your mother would take the East staircase,’ he had said just several weeks ago over dinner, ‘she walked on the edge of the stairs rather than straight down the middle, it makes less noise that way.’ 

And that is what Byleth did. He was correct, it barely creaked at all. 

‘Don’t go out the front door, take the side entrance and stick close to the wall, there are more blind spots from the watch towers that way.’

Correct again. The biting spring wind blew straight through her flimsy nightgown, but the adrenaline pumping through her veins was enough to keep her warm. Nobody on the watch towers above even caught a glimpse of her. 

‘Walk slowly across the bridge, like you belong there. Don’t run, it’ll only make you look suspicious’. 

Of course, there was the fact that Sitri Eisner did not have an activated crest of flames, and was allowed out of the Monastery. For her to sneak out was far less of a debacle. Byleth crossed the bridge with her arms wrapped around her chest, and her eyes straight ahead. She made eye contact with no one, and was paid no mind by the tired guards on either end. 

It was past curfew, and night had stolen away all light. Guards carried torches as they walked by, yet Byleth stuck close to the walls to avoid being caught in their glow, and possibly recognized. She felt fortunate for nobody knowing her face, or even much of her existence - it made for easier blending in. 

As a child she was oftentimes carried around the Academy by her father, yet after the Fhirdiad everything had changed. Jeralt no longer walked with her, and would visit her in her room instead. She had not been outside of the Monastery itself besides for the occasional breath of fresh air, and even that was a simple walk to the Goddess tower and back, with a hood that covered her face the entire time. 

It had been five long, boring years. 

She had crossed the bridge, she had passed by the battleground. She was on new grass that her feet had not felt in years. She stopped to take in the scent of her surroundings. 

It smelled as if it had just rained. She wished to see the Academy courtyard when full of people her age, the conversations they would have and the laughter they would share. Her heart did gymnastics in her chest at the very thought of it. 

Hurriedly, she made her way to the classrooms. She kept close to the wall as she went around the corner and looked for the blue banners of Faerghus, where her father had spent his day. It was just earlier that morning when he picked a snowdrop for her and tried to give her a lecture on dating, and he had not come to dinner that night. He had to be somewhere in the Academy, and she guessed it was inside his classroom, judging by the flickering glow of a candle seeping through it’s open doors. 

She snuck up to the blue lions room. With her heart racing in her ears, she peaked around the corner. 

Smiling was an odd thing to Byleth, and it did not come easily. She had never smiled so much before this moment in time, where she was outside of her room, where she was happy. It felt so large in the minuscule life that she lived. Happiness bubbled in her stomach and traveled up to her heart, blooming like the fresh flowers of spring. She was breaking the rules for the first time in five years. 

Jeralt sat behind his desk at the head of the room, shoulders hunched over a stack of papers. He scowled down at them as if they had personally offended him. He was alone, though, and that was exactly what she wanted. 

With excitement rising in her throat, she jumped into view in the doorway, making a squeak of surprise that was supposed to sound more like ‘hello’, and instead came out as a strangled yelp. Her smile was uncontrollable, which was so incredibly odd for her that her cheeks hurt simply by the muscle movement. Quickly, she covered her mouth with both hands to hide the odd sensation of pure excitement. 

She was outside of her room!

Jeralt’s head whipped up at the sudden noise. His eyes widened like dinner plates while he took his daughter in. He watched as Byleth stared at him, eyes sparkling, and knees shaking, both hands clamped over her mouth to hide the obvious expression on her face. 

She looked wonderful. He’d never seen his daughter so beautiful, standing in the candlelight of a room that was not her own. 

And it was so incredibly dangerous. 

His own heart skipped a beat as he pushed away from his desk and tossed his quill aside. Byleth loosened the hands around her mouth while she watched her father approach, “F-Father, I’ve-”

“You need to go,” he was at her side in an instant, gripping her arm with fear in his eyes, “how did you get out here?”

Her own excitement faltered. The unusual smile was replaced with a confused frown that twitched and grew deeper with disappointment. She yanked her arm away from his grip, “Are you not happy to see me?”

“ _I_ _am_ _elated_ ,” he enunciated his words, genuine in their nature, despite the serious expression he wore, “but this is dangerous, By. What’re you doing here?”

The excitement had soured quickly, turning into nervousness that swam around in her stomach like spoiled milk. She frowned and averted her eyes, “Rhea left the room for a moment and I took off. I remembered what you said to me a few weeks ago.”

When he had told stories of how Sitri snuck out, what she used to do when she went to see him for their midnight dates under the stars. It had seemed so fun back then, but Rhea was so much more casual with Sitri. Rhea didn’t threaten to kill anybody who gave Sitri leeway. Rhea didn't think Sitri would have the effect on the world that Byleth would one day. 

“There are better ways to go about this,” he wrapped a fatherly arm over her shoulders and turned her to face the exit, “you said she left the room for a moment, what was she doing?”

She couldn’t help the pouty frown on her lips, as much as she hated how upset she felt. Emotions were a terrible, raging thing, and she despised every second of having them. “Getting water for the kettle.”

A heavy sigh, “That only takes a minute. She’s probably blowing up right now.”

Blowing up, running down the hallways in search for her, yelling at guards and waking Seteth up. There was most likely already a posse of knights turning the entire monastery upside down. Guilt struck at Byleth’s heart like a flash of lightning. 

Jeralt watched her ashamed silence. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, “Don’t get me wrong, I love it. Anything to piss her off makes me happy, but I don’t like when you put yourself in a bad position without thinking things through.”

“I… thought it through…” She did not. Her earlier proclamation of her impulse control had been proved wrong almost instantly. 

“We can still fix this,” with his arm over her shoulder, the two began to walk back towards the Monastery, past the spots where Byleth had just hidden in the shadows moments before, “just follow my lead.”

Her father was correct, as he always was, in assuming that Rhea had blown up. Byleth didn’t even want to _think_ of how her reaction went, or the anger that must’ve flared in her eyes. She watched as the Monastery lit up with energy. Guards ran around like frantic chickens, followed by priests and nuns shouting orders to each other. Byleth caught the words ‘find her’ echoing across the bridge. 

Jeralt sighed, his hand tightened on her shoulder. He looked tired as he directed his daughter back to her prison cell.

Rhea stood in the light of the Monastery doorway. Her hair was down, loose and wavy around her shoulders. Her dress touched the floor, matching the elegant lance in her right hand. She had her chin raised in arrogance as Jeralt approached with his daughter under his arm. 

Her eyes zeroed in on Byleth, who refused to look at her. The tip of her lance tapped on the stones below, while she raised a hand. Several priests that shuffled behind her stopped instantly and stared with wide eyes at the former knight captain and his daughter. 

“Jeralt.”

The man in question smirked. “Yes?”

“What are you doing with my girl?”

“ _Your_ girl?”

Rhea held out her hand to Byleth. She felt her father nudge her back, to step forward and take it. His smirk had fallen into an irritated frown. 

It was still chaos in the monastery as Byleth took Rhea’s hand in her own and stepped to her side. The nuns behind her all took a step back, as if she had the plague. They had most likely never seen her, only hearing of her. It was shocking to put a face with the rumors. 

Rhea calmed as soon as Byleth joined her. She lowered her chin and stared at Jeralt, unamused, “Why did she disappear from my room?”

He crossed his arms defensively, “I was dropping by, and decided that hey! It’s a nice night! I’m gonna take my daughter for a walk!” His lips grew into a smirk once more, “So, I did.”

“You _know_ how I feel about that.”

“She’s 17, Rhea, let her go for a walk with her father.”

“She could be assassinated!”

“You are _so_ far up your ass, you know that?”

“It’s as if you don’t care for her safety at all.”

“I care for her mental health far more than you do!”

Taken aback, Rhea scowled. She laid a hand on her chest, while her other hand squeezed Byleth’s as tightly as she could. Byleth flinched and lowered her eyes. How she wished she was as strong as her father, and how she wished that she didn’t care as much. How she wished that Sothis could just possess her and lend over her wit and intelligence. How she wished that she could stand up for herself - to both of them, not just Rhea. She was not some toy to be fought over, nor was she a rope in a game of tug of war. 

A crowd had begun to gather around them. It was small, but it was far too many for anybody’s comfort. Nuns and priests gaped and whispered and stared. Rhea could silence them all with just a look, which she passed over the crowd, her eyes steely. 

Jeralt stepped back and crossed his arms, “It was nice to walk with you, By. Let’s do it again sometime.”

“We will have a conversation about this, Jeralt.” Rhea’s voice was far too calm and soft for the threat behind her words. Jeralt only rolled his eyes and turned away. 

Byleth followed the Archbishop through the crowd and back up the stairs, where she belonged. Her mind regretted it, logical thinking lecturing her through the shame of getting her father in trouble with her impulses.

Yet, her heart rejoiced. 

She would not forget the smell of fresh rain on the courtyard. She would not forget the warmth of her father’s classroom with it’s old wooden desks and the badly hidden vodka on the shelf. She would not forget the stars above her while she walked in the cold night, for once alone and not followed by a guard. 

Byleth was pulled out of the sight, away from her father. Jeralt slipped through the crowd of dispersing holy people and walked back across the bridge to make his way to the classroom once more. He had left the candle lit, and his papers unfinished. Tired, he ran his fingers through his hair and thanked the heavens that it had turned out better than he assumed. 

As he walked back, a figure in the shadows caught his eye. He was near the classrooms, on the grass, with the pillars leading to the Knights hall behind him. Someone was leaning against against the wall and watching him. 

He stopped to return the stare. A hesitant hand raised to wave at him through the shadows. Jeralt snorted - what a bad stalker, giving themselves away with a greeting. 

The person pushed off from the wall and walked out into the moon’s light. Dimitri approached with the shadows overhead making him look paler than ever, his blue cloak vibrant on his shoulder. He looked more uncomfortable than when they had met earlier that day. 

“Hey,” Jeralt greeted, half turned to face the class leader, “it’s past curfew.”

“Yeah,” a humorless chuckle at his own expense, his hands rubbing the corner of his eye as if he was tired, “I don’t sleep well. I guess it’s best to not skulk around a campus I don’t know, though.”

“You’re fine, I don’t care what you do.”

He blinked in surprise, he did that often it seemed. “Oh, well thank you. Exploring is far better than sitting in my room and staring at the ceiling.”

“I get it, kid," a sigh that said more than he could've expressed escaped him, "I’ve had those nights too.”

Crickets sung around them, annoying chirps that grated on Jeralt’s tired nerves. He sighed and watched the silhouettes of the buildings around him, buildings he had lived under for his too long life. In the silence between them, his mind drew to Byleth, and the ear-full she was most likely getting. Without thinking, his fist clenched. 

“Forgive my rudeness... but are you okay?”

The kid was too observant for comfort. He watched with curious eyes that resembled his father’s. Jeralt returned the look flatly, “Fine, just the Archbishop, you know.”

He didn’t know, but he wouldn’t ask, and Jeralt learned that he appreciated that about him. Dimitri pressed his lips together and gave a slow, hesitant nod. He opened his mouth to say something, but shut it after a moment and nodded again, almost to himself rather than Jeralt. Finally, after a beat of thought, he met his gaze once more, “I must admit, I saw you and that girl earlier.”

Jeralt’s blood froze. As much as he wanted for Byleth to be normal, he knew that this was not the way it should happen. For her to be exposed in the dead of night with Rhea’s wrath awaiting her wasn’t healthy, and not normal in the least. He tried to compose himself by looking away so Dimitri would not see the change in his expression, “Oh yeah?”

A sure nod, “Is she a student?”

“You’re real nosy, you know that?”

He chuckled to himself, “Apologies, I try not to be. I didn’t mean to see her, and I assumed it was private. It just seems as if…” he glanced behind him in the direction of the Monastery, unusually lit up for so late an hour, “something had happened.”

“Things happen,” Jeralt shrugged casually, “but you’re here for the academy, right? Not the Monastery.”

Translation: it’s none of your goddamn business. 

Dimitri could understand the language of gruff old men, he knew what Jeralt meant. He nodded and smiled, turning away to finally leave him be, “Well, I should return to my late night skulking.”

A rueful smile that crinkled the edges of Jeralt’s eyes, “Don’t get mugged.”

“I’ll try my best, professor.”

Jeralt just might end up liking this kid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I headcanon that the blue lion house is usually like a frat. I mean, you’ve got people like Cassandra coming from there, and Rodrigue mentions that he and Lambert used to ditch classes. Then you have the people from Faerghus in general like Lonato and Gwendal and Jeralt, who are gruff but compassionate, value honor and loyalty and bluntness. I just think that there’s hardly no way the Blue Lion class isn’t usually a constant frat party with hazing and a lot of beer and fist fights. 
> 
> Then there’s the class of 1180… those weirdos… acting like polite and normal people… Disgusting. 
> 
> Also! I just wanted to mention that if you're wondering about why Byleth is cut off from other people and never allowed out, there's going to be a more plausible reason later in the fic. She doesn't understand it and finds it frustrating, because I mean, who wouldn't? Nobody's ever explained to her the reason why other than that she might get assassinated and that she has responsibilities, which are really dumb reasons. It's super frustrating, and it doesnt make sense - and that is totally on purpose! There are actual plausible reasons why, but my lovely readers will have to learn it alongside Byleth later in the fic.  
> No dimileth yet, not quite, the world is still building up and I want their meeting to feel Important ! 
> 
> If you liked it, I'd love to hear from you, any thoughts or questions you may have, or if you want to discuss a certain character and your own headcanons then I am always open to doing so! Thank you so much for reading.


	7. Knife Lady

_ There’s something dark hanging over my head _

_ I’m seventeen, don’t hold your breath _

* * *

_**Dima,** _

_**My dearest nephew, I hope the trip to Garreg Mach proved safe for you and your Duscurian retainer. I am aware that you both are experienced in the ways of battle, so I did not worry too much for your safety. I WILL begin to worry if you don't write back, though, as you are prone to do. You are a very bad nephew at times, never updating your dear old uncle on the going-ons of your life. Do tell, do tell! Have you met a woman yet? Are the female students very beautiful? I have heard that the princess of Brigid is attending this year, have you met her? Imagine, Faerghus conquering Brigid - use your imagination, Dimitri, can you use it? Conquest runs in the family after all.** _

_**If she isn't to your liking, perhaps Lady Hresvelg herself, I know the two of you are acquainted. There is also Lady Goneril, I've heard tales of her beauty. To be honest, though, the lady I am most curious about is the heir of the Archbishop herself. Mystery does make for good romance, yes? If you happen to meet her - though very little have - then do tell me, in great detail, of her beauty, I've heard rumor of such and am curious to see if they are true. The Archbishop Rhea is more of my type, though, and if she is looking for a husband do tell her of my availability. Would you mind asking her about that? Remember to write back, I expect at least three pages in return, and try your best to not be boring.** _

_**Study hard, nephew. Study well, do not get into trouble, and please do not get killed by assassins. That would be terribly inconvenient.** _

_**Love, Rufus.** _

__

Dimitri could not rip up and throw away his uncle's letter quickly enough. He sighed in relief the second the parchment was tossed into the garbage can. 

He never thought that leaving home would be so _easy_. 

Nor did he assume he’d be so eager to. He supposed that was Rufus's, after all. 

The academy was far from what he expected, far from his ideas of marble halls and painted ceilings. The Monastery itself fit his expectations more than the splintered, old halls of the student dormitories and classrooms. He could only look at the scuffed floor and think of his father’s feet, standing where he stands now. 

Dimitri was not the studious type, always preferring physical stimulation rather than reading out of a book, and it was fortunate for him that he grew up in Faerghus, where one may be judged on prowess with the blade, rather than how well one could read. He studied from tomes and textbooks as much as was appropriate, yet he would always prefer to practice his footwork more than anything else. 

With that mind, he knew that the academy would be a good place for him, and that Jeralt Eisner would be a good teacher. He could ignore the obviously hidden bottles of liquor, and the unshaven jaw, in favor for learning the techniques of the legendary blade breaker. Perhaps that was why he, and the rest of his class, arrived almost half a week before the classes even began.

As the day drew near, the academy filled up with curious students. Dimitri's first day almost felt like a trance, slipping through the crowds of teenagers and young adults to reach his destination. He was grateful that he’d arrived several days before and wouldn’t have to pull his luggage through the throngs of bodies flooding the dormitory halls. He and Dedue stuck to the less traveled paths, most comfortable away from the thick crowds. 

“Are you excited, my friend?” His smile was hopeful, optimistic even, as he strode next to Dedue. His retainer kept his eyes straight ahead and his lips set into a thin line. 

“I…” his fingers flexed nervously as he wiped his sweaty palm on the leg of his pants, “I suppose so.” 

Dimitri recognized the nervous fidgeting of his retainer. Dedue had never liked large crowds, there were too many people to watch, and far too many memories of disaster. Attempting to comfort him, Dimitri rested a friendly hand on his arm, “It won’t be this hectic every day.”

He didn’t want to admit his own doubts on that particular proclamation. The courtyard in front of the classrooms buzzed with frantic energy as everybody rushed to follow their given schedules. 

Dedue and Dimitri rounded the corner and skirted around the crowd, soon catching sight of Annette standing beside the knight's hall and staring down at her parchment with furrowed brows. Next to her, Ingrid was visibly ranting into the air, arms crossed, and mouth formed into a frown. 

Where they stood was slightly less chaotic - and hopefully quieter. Several of the more dedicated students sat in the shade, leaning against columns with their piles of books and their luggage. Dimitri slipped through the bodies and approached Annette with a friendly wave, “Did Mercedes get the syllabus to you?”

A pair of frowns drowned him instantly. Ingrids frown had always been so striking, so motherly and critical in the way she stared people down - Dimitri felt fortunate to know her well enough to understand that her dissatisfaction was nothing personal, yet he found himself stepping in front of Dedue as if to shield him from her flickering eyes.  Annette, who he had only met just several days before, was far less severe. She clenched her fist as if she was about to cry, “What the heck is this? What kind of syllabus is _this_?”

The three simple bullet points with an air of condescension about them. Dimitri had wondered the very same. 

Ingrid shook her head, “He seems like a lazy professor. Jeez, I really thought it would be cool to learn under the Blade Breaker.” 

“He does seem…” he shifted in place, rubbing the back of his neck, “unconventional, to say the least.” 

Annette scoffed, “I can’t learn _unconventionally_!” 

Dimitri and Dedue shared a look. Annette’s own father was the most unconventional teacher he’d ever had, and while Dedue had never met him personally, he knew the stories of Gustave Dominic dropping the young prince in the mountains at 3 a.m. with only a butter knife for self defense. Unconventionality had been a trademark of the Dominic family house for centuries. 

Yet, it seemed fitting that Annette would be upset over a small oddity in their professor - the entire Blue Lions class was the complete opposite of what was expected. Instead of the usual wild antics and tendencies towards alcoholism that had been the norm for so long, the Blue Lions of 1180 were responsible, _normal_ , people. 

Truthfully, he wouldn’t want it any other way.

Dimitri knew half of the class prior from his childhood, yet had found himself nervous over the remainder that he did not know. He wondered if they would fit the crass, knife throwing, mountain people stereotype - and he was so pleasantly surprised upon meeting them all.  If only their professor would turn out to be responsible and normal as well, that would be the icing on the cake. 

“Class should be starting soon,” he glanced at the crowd in the courtyard, noting that it was beginning to disperse. Lines of people flooded into the classes, “Would you like to enter together?”

“Oh, sure, your highness!” Annette leaned down to pick up her rather tall stack of books - none of them required of the class - and speed-walked ahead of him before he could offer his help. Ingrid eyed Dedue as if he was a dead fish on the sidewalk before she followed, earning a frown from Dimitri. If Dedue was bothered at all, it didn’t show. 

The classroom was much the same as several days ago, undecorated, unlike the Golden Deer and the Black Eagle rooms. Nobody had bothered to dust the overhead lamps, nor had they polished the tables. The class smelled of wood and old books, much like the library in Fhirdiad. He found himself heading to the desk at the front of the room. 

Dedue caught him with a subtle clearing of his throat. Dimitri turned to find his friend hovering at an empty desk in the back, pushing the bench aside to adjust himself under the low surface of the table. His knee knocked against the side of it, and he pushed the bench back further to make room for his long legs. Sighing in defeat, Dedue glanced up, “I’ll be back here, your highness. It's easier to watch the door here.”

Dimitri smiled, “You don’t _need_ to watch the door, my friend.”

But he did. The look in his eyes, a subtle flicker that he understood immediately. Comfort was often found in the most nonessential of traditions. 

Annette and Mercedes sat together, their shared table filled with papers and books - mostly Annette’s. Felix claimed the seat near the front of the classroom with Ingrid at his side, and Sylvain behind them at a desk by himself. Dimitri watched the Gautier heir lean forward with a wicked grin and drop a pencil down the back of Felix’s collar. 

He managed to look away right as Sylvain received a well-deserve smack - Felix went in for a second one before Ingrid wrestled him back. He took his seat at the front of the classroom, in front of Ashe. There would be no need to worry about mischief with the sweet adopted son of Lonato behind him, and he preferred having his own table and bench to stretch out upon. 

At the head of the room, Jeralt leaned against his desk. His ankles were crossed, shoulders loose and casual. He looked bored as he scanned the remaining students filtering in from the courtyard outside. 

After several minutes, the room quieted, and the doors closed. 

And professor Jeralt simply stared. 

A beat of silence passed, while the hum from the outside began to die away. In the neighboring room, a chorus of laughter broke through the walls, sounding far too loud in the quiet awkwardness.  It was a new environment for everybody, even the professor, and the hesitation filling the air grew thicker. 

Dimitri felt too tall for the wooden desk and spread his legs out underneath the table. Dedue, being even taller, must’ve had it worse, though he seemed more at ease than anyone else in the room. Even  Sylvain suffered, playing the part of casualty in an attempt to disguise his nervousness. He leaned back and rested his hands behind his head, his overly loud yawn the noisiest sound in the room. Another shriek of laughter erupted from the Golden Deer next door. 

Jeralt glanced at the wall and frowned. Finally, he straightened, sighing heavily, “I don’t want to do introductions. Who even _likes_ introductions?”

Annette squeaked in fear as if  _ she _ liked introductions. Jeralt went on gruffly, “So, who wants to just get into it?”

Nobody besides Felix raised their hand.

“Good enough. Let’s go to the training ground and see what you’ve got.” 

  
  


* * *

Father was late, _again_. 

And Byleth felt like a complete baby for getting frustrated by it.

“I know he’s bus-“

“Uh huh.”

“But I’m his daughter and I have needs-“

“Right.”

“Am I being stupid? I should’ve known this position would make him busier.”

“Well…”

“I just didn’t think he would have so little time.”

“It’s the first day of classes Byleth.”

“I _know_ he’s busy-“

Seteth set his quill down a bit harder than intended, his frown growing more by every new wandering thought that came from his niece's mouth. “ _Other_ _people_ are busy as well, you know.”

She snorted, oblivious, “ _Who_? Not me, no. Everybody _but_ me. Even Flayn has dinner plans tonight!”

A beat of shocked silence. Anxiously, Byleth fiddled with the sleeves of her dress while Seteth stared her down. There was a process of thought running behind his eyes, scenarios of murder and hiding bodies flashing to and fro across his brain. He cleared his throat and looked at the girl sitting on the other side of his desk, her legs dangling over the arm of her cushioned chair. “...Dinner plans, you say?”

Byleth remained oblivious, “Mmhmm, with some girls she met the other day.”

“Are they… trustworthy girls?”

Byleth leveled her uncle with a glare, “How should I know? I never leave the premises.”

“If she starts dating secretly,” he leaned across the desk, looking very serious, “tell me right away. Don’t keep it a secret, even if she begs.”

Seteth _had_ to know Byleth wouldn’t agree to such a thing, nor would Flayn ever keep anything romantic a secret - she'd be far too excited to keep her lips sealed. She frowned and sat up in the chair, “You're no help for my problems, uncle. I need comfort and reassurance right now.”

A defeated sigh, “I’m sure Jeralt will contact you at some point tonight.”

She felt like a brat, a child. She knew she looked pouty as she stood from the chair, “I hope he’s okay.”

“Ah, yes,” Seteth dipped his quill into ink, ignoring her in favor of returning to his paperwork, “he’s probably been mauled by all of those children.”

Yet, what if that was the truth? 

The Blue Lions had historically been trouble makers, perhaps they used her father for aim practice? Perhaps they had dragged him into the woods and hunted him like the great wolves of the Northern mountains? Perhaps they had made fun of his silly haircut and hurt his feelings? 

Byleth cut his hair herself! They had no right to make fun of his daughter’s hard work! 

Such savages, those Blue Lions.

Byleth huffed down the hallway, away from Seteth’s office and back to her room. She pushed open the door and let it swing wide as she stood in the entrance, glaring ahead of her in worry and anger. Those damn Blue Lions, and their damn Northern accents, and their damn love for weapons and battle. She could not believe she was part Faerghusian, she would disown that ancestry as immediately as she could! She slammed the door shut and huffed, frustrated. 

"You okay, kid?"

At her window, holding a rope, stood Jeralt Eisner - silly haircut still intact. 

Relief flooded her chest. He glanced at her from across the room, hands pulling at the length of a braided rope that hung from her window. He looked down at his work and swore under his breath as he gave it a hard yank, and rubbed at his sore shoulder - his arthritis had been acting up lately, it was one reason he had retired. 

Just for good measure, Byleth locked the door. Rhea was already in bed by this time, yet by the oddity of the situation happening at her window, she had a feeling that this was something to hide. “Father?”

He didn’t look up. He swore once more, yanking the rope and letting it coil into a neat pile at his feet. Slowly, her worries forgotten and replaced by curiosity, Byleth approached, “May I ask what you’re doing?”

“Dammit- kid, just let me concentrate for a minute.”

She pulled away with a frown, “I don’t feel as if I was particularly bothersome, but okay you old bastard.”

Grinning under his breath, he yanked again. Finally, the end of the rope appeared at the window sill. In the outside world, crickets sang their songs, with lighting bugs floating on the ground below. It was dark, and empty, and quiet. She very rarely opened her window, Rhea didn't like letting bugs inside. 

“So,” he started, “it’s a little too long, I’ll have to cut it so you don’t have to deal with this.”

Her curiosity piqued, “Deal with what?”

Jeralt sighed, and rolled his eyes. It was a relatively childish movement on his wrinkled face. On the table beside him several iron tools lay from their use. “Well, kid, I found out today that my class is pretty boring.”

Sothis had been watching silently, sitting on Byleth’s bed and staring at the odd contraption behind the table. Byleth sent her glance, then followed her eyes. She bent down to lift the white cloth that covered the table, and caught a glimpse of a metal ring screwed into the floor.  The other end of the rope had been tied tightly around the ring, into several intricate knots. Jeralt watched her with examine it an excited grin. 

It was a relief, at least, to hear that his class was boring. Apparently, they didn’t hunt him down in the woods, or make fun of his haircut. Yet, the entertainment value of his students didn’t explain the new contraption hiding under her table. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“I can’t really help them in that way,” he gathered the rope into his arms and began scratching at the other end with a dagger, “I’d rather not be fired for being a bad influence on the bratty nobles, but I can be a bad influence on _you_.”

She stood up, “Is that… something you should _want_ to do?”

“Oh, come on, you’re a smart kid,” he rested a hand on her shoulder, “you’ll know to never go _too_ far... But you’re also just a teenager, By, I think it’s healthy to rebel at least a little.” 

He returned to cutting the rope, sawing at it with his dagger. She watched the ends fray and loosen from each other like lovers being torn from each other's arms, “So... is this what I think it is?”

“I got the idea from training today,” he grinned wickedly down at his work, “we set up ropes from the ceiling in the knight’s hall and the little shy one climbed ‘em like they were nothing-“

"The little shy one?"

“His name is Ashe, pretty stealthy kid. I wouldn’t mind you marrying someone like him.”

Taken aback, she gulped at the sound of his words - marrying, the very thought was odd. “Oh?”

Finally, it snapped. He sheathed his dagger and threw the attached end out the window, into the night. It fell, and fell, until it tensed as it reached its limit and pulled against the new hook hiding under her table. “He almost made rope climbing look easy, and he told me that's how he used to have to get by, climbing ropes up through windows. He'd tie it really tight against something and he'd be in and out like a flash. And I thought, hey, I can just bribe the guards that patrol your window to slack off on their shifts, and you can sneak around the same way. Simple as that.”

So simple. So obvious. 

“If you want to, of course,” he waved a hand, “I understand if you’re, uh... afraid of it.”

The rest went unsaid. Rhea, if she was afraid of _Rhea_. 

Sothis sat on the bed nearby, chin resting in her palm. Her eyes sparkled with unabashed interest and curiosity, “Do it. What’s the worst she could do? Lecture your ear off?”

The lectures weren’t pleasant, but that was all she had ever gotten. Hesitant, Byleth bit her lip and stared at the rope hanging out of the window, the offer of something different, something more. 

“I’ve never tested her boundaries,” she whispered, partly to Sothis, partly to her father, “what if this is going too far?”

“I…” He paused, shifting in place, thinking on her words. He was unaware of the girl sitting behind him with eager eyes, “I don’t want you to get in trouble, but I also just… can’t stand anymore of this.”

His words struck a chord in her chest, one she didn’t particularly understand. It felt something akin to sadness. “What do you mean?”

Flabbergasted, Jeralt gestured around him to the plain room. The curtains were white, the bedspread white, and the nightstand empty. The only semblance of personality was on her bookshelf, with the dried flowers he’d brought her, and the books about history and scripture. The little personality that sat there was sculpted, structured. 

The room lacked much of Byleth Eisner, the naive girl who understood very little about herself. It lacked the touch of friends, of a life lived. Even the art and the instruments she plucked about on where sculpted pieces of herself that Rhea has picked out for her. 

His gesture was exasperated, confused as to how she wasn’t as nearly miserable as she _should_ be. “This is boring! I want you to be happy, and all you ever are is either angry, worried, or sad. I saw you smile so wide the other day when you snuck out, and I want that for you again, kid. I don’t want you to be isolated your entire life.”

She didn’t know he cared so much. She had a feeling, but to see it displayed so vibrantly, it shocked her. 

He sighed and rubbed his face, “I just saw all of those kids today being… I don’t know, kids. I’ve always trained older knights and never interacted with the classes until know, I think I forgot what it was like to be your age. Byleth,” he looked at her, serious, “they tell stupid jokes, and act awkward, and push each other around. Annette and Mercedes laughed so hard over an inside joke that milk came from Annette’s nose-” 

“That sounds gross-”

“A-And Sylvain pranked Felix by putting salt in his coffee-”

“That also sounds gross-”

“They’re friends, all of them, in different ways that would blow your mind!” He was passionate now, “Just watchin’ them today was eye opening. I couldn’t stop thinking about you, Byleth. I couldn’t stop thinking of how much I want this for you, how much I want for you to live a normal life. And I understand if… if you aren’t ready for that. But, please,” he kicked the rope under the table, where it was hidden, “let me at least offer a way, as your father. I’m doing what I can.”

He was doing what he could. What he _could_ was a rope hanging out of her window, and no patrols outside. What he _could_ was a way out, an escape, if only for a night. 

Silently, Jeralt slipped his tools into his belt and made his way towards the door. Exhaustion rested on his shoulders, “I won’t be here tomorrow night, I’m taking the class leaders and this new apprentice professor out on some drills.”

She perked up, “Where to?”

“That village right outside the city, Remire. Hanneman and Manuela will be watching the other classes,” he sighed as he opened the door to the hallway and sent her a grim, annoyed smile, “I guess the class leaders are special sort of brats and get a different treatment. The Adrestian Empire requested the three of them have private tutoring. Frankly, I think it’s a weird request.”

Byleth wasn’t too aware of what was ‘weird’ about life, or not. Rhea’s triangle ears weren’t weird, living in one level of the Monastery all her life wasn’t weird, and the fact that Flayn never aged wasn’t weird either. Byleth didn’t think the class leaders having private tutoring sounded odd at all, yet Jeralt shifted uncomfortably at the thought. 

He seemed so hesitant, so unwilling to do the mission tomorrow. She looked away to hide the blooming smile on her lips, “Well, be safe.”

“I will,” a heavy sigh and a roll of his eyes, “Night, kid.”

“Goodnight…”

Sothis watched him go with curious, invisible eyes. Byleth hid her subtle smile behind her hand and stared out of the window, into the darkness beyond her room. Jeralt shut the door with a bang that was sure to be heard down the hallway, but she ignored the noise. She was lost in her thoughts, her ideas that grew and spread across her mind like a wildfire. 

Sothis giggled. They shared a mind, after all. 

“I want him to be happy,” Byleth informed her smartly, “he’ll certainly be excited to see me tomorrow. Now, I just need some light poison.”

A wicked grin, “You’re so terrible.”

“A  _ light _ poison,” she defended, “and it’s for the greater good.”

Her father’s words rang through her mind. He was doing what he could. 

****

* * *

Dimitri didn’t quite understand why it was mandatory to do drills with the other house leaders, but he wasn’t the type to make a fuss about it. 

It was just exceptionally awkward, was all. 

He wasn’t quite sure what to say to Edelgard, and wasn’t quite sure what he expected her to say in response. It seemed far more in character for her to ignore him entirely, which is exactly what she did. He was comforted by the predictability of it all. And  Claude, the grandson of Duke Riegan, was another matter entirely.

“Maaaan, this is a long walk. Eh, Blue? Are your legs sore yet?”

They were not. He offered Claude a pensive, slightly amused look from the corner of his eye, “We’re almost there.”

“But then we’ll just have to do _more_ exercise,” he retorted smartly, “I, personally, don’t even understand why we’re out here in the first place.”

He shot his inquiry towards professor Eisner, who walked ahead of them with the new apprentice teacher at his side. The professor sent him an uninterested glance over his shoulder, a silent retort all his own. Edelgard lifted her chin into the air and refused to look at Claude as she walked along, “As the class leaders we should have personal tutoring - it makes perfect sense.”

She was as standoffish, as always. While her voice was more mature, Dimitri could hear the young girl in it. The sound ate at his chest and rose up his throat like fire. 

Her hair was far too bright in the afternoon sun, rather than the mousy brown that he remembered. She had flipped it over her shoulder just as she used to, but did not acknowledge the change in color. He only assumed that she’d dyed it, that it was a fashion trend in Adrestia. She looked ghostly, washed out and pale with half moon circles under her eyes as if she’d never slept a day in her life. 

Still, she was beautiful. Dimitri didn’t want to look at her with all of the unsaid years between them. He was better off paying more attention to the Duke's grandson, “I don’t think this is required very often, perhaps only once a month or so.”

He shrugged nonchalantly, “I just don’t see why we can’t do this in the Monastery.”

Edelgard stared ahead of herself. Dimitri offered a shrug, doing the same as he avoided stealing another glance to his step sister. Claude eyed the two with a raised brow. 

The apprentice teacher was rambling nervously to the retired knight with a fervor that spoke of his admiration, yet Jeralt ignored the stream of words from his mouth. Ahead of the group, the walls of Remire grew closer, and closer. Jeralt slowed in his walk, and turned towards the open gate of the village, “I’m gonna run inside and grab something, you four go set up a bit to the West.”

The apprentice teacher raised a brow with a panicked look coloring his face, “Uh, to the West? Do you have a specific spot, or-”

He waved a nonchalant hand and walked away without giving an answer, disappearing through the gates and around a corner. His mouth hung open in stuttering shock, "P-Professor?"

The most subtle of smiles graced Edelgard's lips, along with a soft snort. Claude was the only one to laugh at the absurdity of it all. “To the West, he says. We go West.” He slipped past the apprentice teacher and began his walk, hands resting in the pockets of his uniform. 

“That’s East.”

On his heel, Claude turned the opposite direction, easy smile never faltering, “To the West.”

With a shrug, Dimitri followed.  Edelgard stayed silent as the group walked along. She trailed behind Dimitri, as if she didn’t want to stand beside him, nor Claude, who walked in front. It was still incredibly awkward, but he was glad for the distraction of following Jeralt’s ominous, vague instructions. 

“I suppose we’re just going to train,” he spoke aloud, just to hear something other than his own thoughts and the chirping of the woods around them, “though I didn’t bring a lance.”

Claude paused, one step ahead of him. With a dark, raised brow, he joined the spot at Dimitri’s side and muttered, “Yeah, I didn’t bring a bow either. I was told not to.”

He was far better at being subtle than the prince of Faerghus, with his quick glances and his poker face. He cast a look over his shoulder at Edelgard, walking alone behind them at a distance. An axe bumped against her hip, right above her bright red tights. She met Claude’s eyes coldly.

He grinned, “I guess Edelgard’s the only one who gets told anything.”

Unimpressed, she frowned, “Perhaps if you listened in class you would’ve known to bring something. And I expected better from you, Dimitri.”

That stung. The first thing his step sister had said to him on this entire trip and it was an insult. “We all make mistakes.” He said airily, turning away from her. 

The apprentice professor chose an open area beside the road, to the West. It wouldn’t be too far away for Jeralt to have trouble finding, and they would surely make enough noise with their training drills to be heard from far off. Yet, with only one weapon between the four of them, the group was left staring at each other awkwardly. 

“Well,” the apprentice shuffled in place, “uh, pushups?”

Push ups. The students continued staring.

“Jogging in place? Or, uh, we could take turns with Edelgard’s ax-”

She put a hand on the weapon at her hip, gleaming dangerously in the bit of light that seeped through the trees above, “I’d rather not.”

“Oh… So, that’s out of the question. Well, uh…” 

Dimitri cleared his throat to grab the attention of his classmates, “Perhaps professor Eisner is getting weapons in Remire, and we should just wait for him?”

It was the most logical conclusion that the group had come to, and was accepted immediately. The jumpy apprentice nodded along and plopped down onto the soft ground, accepting his fate as ‘very useless’. Claude sighed and leaned against a tree nonchalantly.  Edelgard crossed her arms, and waited. Dimitri felt far more fidgety than he looked. This entire trip had been awkward in more ways than one, and he found himself wishing for it to be over with already. 

Little did he know, just half a mile away, there was a young, naive girl, being chased by a group of bandits. And she was having a _very_ bad day. 

The other thing that he knew very little of was the other group of bandits closing in on him and his classmates from the other direction. There were about 7 of them in total, 2 chasing the girl having the very bad day, and 5 going towards the students waiting in the clearing. 

The students with only one ax between them, and the very panicked and jumpy apprentice teacher. 

This all, of course, was unknown to any of them. 

Dimitri caught sight of the bandits first. In his boredom, he had been peaking through the trees around the clearing. The foliage was just beginning to turn thick with the onslaught of spring, yet there were enough dead limbs to catch sight of a fur clad man carrying a notched bow, moving his head around to catch sight of whatever he searched for.

Perhaps he was hunting deer, it was that season. Perhaps he had lost something, or perhaps he felt unsafe in the woods. Dimitri watched him, not bothering to hide, u ntil the man caught sight of him. Before Dimitri could send a friendly wave, the arrow was raised, in the air, and let loose, pointed straight for his chest. 

He had been in battle before, had arrows fly through the air towards him in quick succession. He ducked, and rolled across the soft ground. He barely heard the surprised gasps of his classmates and the teacher when the archer’s friends appeared in the trees around them, surrounding the group. 

“Oh hey, what’d we have here?” A wide toothed, malicious grin. 

That was not a kind voice - and it was not a friendly smile that graced the rugged man’s lips. The apprentice professor was on his feet and running away through the woods before Dimitri could react. 

He was fired for sure. 

Claude thought faster than his classmates, pushing himself from his spot and into the forest through an opening in the group’s ranks. He was fast, quick on his feet and unpredictable. In that moment, it seemed like the best way to react. 

Dimitri moved not of his own accord. The bandits were slow, weighed down by their heavy armors and the tangled branches of the trees around them. Claude jumped over tree trunks and bore through vines as if he was made for it, while Dimitri found himself following his path. Edelgard was at his side. 

“Why’re you following me?” The duke’s grandson yelled over his shoulder, his voice frantic and hurried. Dimitri grabbed Edelgard’s wrist and held the branches above her head, letting her run past him through the thorny parts of a bush. 

“I assume you have a plan!” He yelled back, letting the branches fall back into place behind him and catching up to Edelgard, jumping over a thick root as he followed Claude’s silhouette through the trees, “You’re a quick thinker!”

“Why thank you, your highness!” He slid down a muddy hill, the road was visible ahead, “Give yourself some credit, though, you could’ve taken ‘em!”

He really didn’t think he could, not without a weapon. And he didn’t want to test Claude’s theory. 

He and Edelgard slid down the hill in time with each other. He stumbled on his feet, but rose quickly enough to burst out through the trees and onto the dirt road that was used by merchants. Garreg Mach was silhouetted in the distance, black against the sky. 

Claude kept running, and running, and huffing, and pushing himself along. There was a curve in the road, to avoid the creek that ran through the forest. Dimitri followed with his step sister at his side, sending her glances to make sure she was okay. She looked tired, but kept a brave, serious face, as she kept up with the escape party. Her brows furrowed, and her lips parted, with pale cheeks blotched with pink exhaustion. 

Yells reverberated behind them, with the sound of snapping limbs, as if a monster approached through the trees. An arrow whizzed past his head and burrowed itself into the ground at his feet - a terrifyingly close call. 

Dimitri rounded the curve in the road, following Claude. In his adrenaline, he didn’t quite hear the ‘watch out’ shrieked by Edelgard, or the gasps, or the shout of fear from the stranger who was also running from something, the stranger in front of him with the dark hair and the dark clothes and the wide, surprised eyes. 

He hit something - _someone_ \- very, _very_ hard.

The impact of her body knocked him to the ground in an instant. He landed on his bottom, his palms flat on the dirt road. A shock ran up from his tailbone, to his spine, and he could not help but shut his eyes in pain. She had made the most impact at his nose, where her forehead had reached perfectly in their collision. He held his nose and seethed through the blooming pain flowering across his face. 

“Ugh," a groan, "you’ve got a hard head.”

So he'd been told before. Claude grabbed at his arm to pull him up frantically, and Dimitri opened his eyes. He was unstable on his feet, the world slightly blurry with the adrenaline that rushed through his brain. He leaned on Claude, who laughed in an almost _nervous_ way. Another shout from the bandit group in the forest around them made him flinch and glance around, as if he was ready to run and leave the rest of the group behind once the situation called for it. 

“Are you okay?” Edelgard’s voice, softer than usual. He opened his eyes to take in the source of his step sister’s kindness, a gesture that could not possibly be directed to him or Claude. 

She stood in front of him, arm wrapped around Edelgard's, hand rubbing her red forehead underneath her bangs. Dark hair, pale skin. Her lips were parted in surprise, and brows furrowed as she held herself. The panic on her face was mild, despite the obvious group of ruffians that were nearing through the forest, “I can’t stay, I’m sorry-”

“Well, neither can we-”

“I’m being chased-”

Claude was exasperated, “So are we!”

“What a coincidence!”

“It really is!”

Edelgard sent him the sharpest look possible, “Would you stop? Come on,” she held onto her arm, “you might have a concussion.”

“Hey,” he let Claude hold him up as he regained his balance from the fall, “My head is not _that_ hard.”

“That’s subjectiv- 

“Goddess," Edelgard hissed, "we can’t just stand here, come on!”

Almost as if on command, another arrow whizzed through the group and burrowed into the ground. "They're over here!" Shouts, laughter through the trees and the clanging of armor against itself. The ruffians were drawing ever closer, and the students had been discovered. 

Coupled with the group in the forest, another set of ruffians appeared at the bottom of the hill. With his sword, he pointed at the students and scowled. The dark haired girl gasped, "That's who was chasing me!"

Edelgard clutched her hand, looking upset in the most oddest of ways. Dimitri would've noticed the uncharacteristic expression he had not been watching the approaching attackers, with their malicious scowls and their sharp weapons. With his heart racing, he looked at the trees surrounding the road for any sign of an opening, "We need to get out of here."

The girl gasped, black hair falling over her shoulders in a tangled, windblown mess, “Where could we possibly go? We're surrounded!”

“Garreg Mach,” He answered over the rush, “We shouldn’t lead them to Remire, they can't defend themselves.”

“W-Where…” the heartbroken tone in her voice caused him to slow in pace, while she put a frantic hand on his arm and looked up at him, eyes wide, “Where's Jeralt Eisner? Did he get hurt?”

Jeralt Eisner, his professor. This girl knew him, and knew that he was out there today. Edelgard and Claude turned their heads to watch the scene. “He was in Remire buying weapons-”

He was not allowed to complete his sentence, the girl was gone in an instant. She turned on her heel and took off through the trees, like an animal on the run from a hunter. Except, she was not escaping, she was running straight into the direction of the ones most dangerous to her. His heart skipped, and the assailants on the other end of the road were forgotten. 

He followed without thought. Behind him, Claude groaned, "You've just _got_ to be the knight in shining armor, huh?"

If that meant that he cared for people and did not want a young girl to run into a group of five grown men with sharp weapons, then yes. Dimitri tried to keep at her heels, yet his speed could not match her lithe body as she weaved through the brambles. “Wait!” He called out, “ _Wait_!”

She did not answer. Behind him, Edelgard followed through the trees, shouting over the adrenaline of their escape, “Dimitri, let her go! She’s chosen her fate!”

She knew the name of his professor, she was being chased by a group much like the ones who chased him and his classmates. There was something connected there, as small as it might seem. He huffed, running along, “I’m not letting someone face this danger alone!”

He could only wish that someone would do the same for him, one day. He preferred to have faith in humanity. 

In his rush to keep up, Edelgard and Claude were left behind. He was vaguely aware of their presence through the trees, but they were farther away than ever before. He kept his eyes on the girl’s back while she slid and jumped and ducked through the thickest parts of the forest. 

The man appearing before her was sudden, unpredictable. He must’ve been hiding behind a tree, waiting for the perfect moment to reveal himself. Her face nearly made contact with his chest before she stumbled backwards, almost into Dimitri’s arms. He caught her by her wrist and pulled her away from the sudden slash of a lance, an attack that would’ve ripped right through her abdomen if she had not moved.

He had pulled her away in time, and now he had to figure out how to fight this man without a weapon. He was not proficient in hand to hand, but his inhuman strength was a boon enough. He let go of the girl’s wrist, "I've got this, just stay behind me." He took his position, spreading his legs and raising his fists, ready to strike. 

The knife was in the man’s stomach before Dimitri could even blink. 

A slow grunt as the life left his eyes, his lips parted in a nonexistent scream. Sudden heavy silence, and a small hand holding the hilt of a dagger. 

Edelgard and Claude were huffing as they caught up through the trees, yet they slowed upon approach. Any words they had fell to the ground when they noticed the scene before them - the stranger, leaning forward, with one hand holding the hilt of a dagger as if it was an extension of her hand. Cleanly, and quickly, she twisted the blade, and pulled it from his stomach. He dropped to his knees and landed face-first into the soft, leaf covered floor. The 'thump' sound proved sickening, something Dimitri would never find himself accustomed to. 

The stranger was casual as she leaned down to wipe the blood from her blade and onto the dead man's shirt, “Disgusting,” she muttered, “stuff gets everywhere, terrible to clean out of clothes.”

Dimitri watched her stand and sigh, sheathing her dagger. "Bye," a casual flick of her hand, before beginning her run through the trees once more. 

All he could do was stand still. Next to him, Claude blinked in surprise, “Was that… real?”

The man bleeding out on the ground in front of them was _certainly_ real. Delicately, Edelgard stepped over his corpse, “Well, _I’m_ going to stick with her.”

A smart move. Dimitri picked up the dead man’s lance, “Oh, you get a weapon too?” Claude scoffed, “What am I supposed to do? Throw rocks?”

“Be resourceful.” It was all the prince offered as he followed Edelgard, who followed the lithe girl, as she approached Remire village. And now, he had a weapon, he could feel a bit less useless. 

He was sure that he could faintly hear Claude picking up rocks off the ground behind him. 

As they drew closer to the village, the fighting began. The ruffians had followed them through the trees and attempted to surround the group during their escape. Dimitri slashed at one that jumped out at him with his rusty, borrowed lance, while the girl stabbed another in front of him. She was very good at stabbing. 

He took a quick stumble back to avoid the falling man she had taken down. Their eyes met as he dropped between them, and she offered a quick, serious nod, her lips drawn into a thin line. “Oh, hey, thanks for earlier.”

Behind her, a man with a dagger was approaching. The assailant smirked to himself in the most villanous of ways, yet his chortle was cut short by Dimitri lunging forward and digging the lance into his shoulder, then swiping it under his feet in a clean, practiced way. He was strained with the adrenaline of the fight, but managed to respond to her odd statement with a gasp, “What do you mean?”

“Oh,” she ducked an arrow flying over her head, and threw her dagger at the archer, pinning him to a thick tree trunk, “you know, pulling me out of the way. Even though you _do_ have an especially hard head.”

She was far too casual for this battle. “I apologize for that,” another swipe of a bandit’s legs, and Claude threw another rock he’d found on the ground - he really did have good aim - while Edelgard slashed her ax through the air and sliced a man's abdomen like butter. Dimitri's nose hurt with the memory of this strange girl's forehead, “I wasn’t quite aware of my surroundings.”

She lunged under his arm, digging an extra dagger she’d found on the body of her attacker into the stomach of a man coming up behind him. If he was more poetic, he’d say their conversation felt more like a dance than a battle, a movement between two bodies as they fought for their lives. She held her words with ease, practiced precision, and grace. “It’s fine, I forgive you.”

“Oh," he straightened up, "well... uh, thank you.”

She nodded up at him, eyes gleaming with something unidentifiable - it caught his attention, the vision of the dark haired girl sinking into his brain and rooting itself down, that look in her eyes that he couldn't even _begin_ to understand. “You’re very much welcome.”

Another rock whizzed by his head. Claude knocked out the last bandit with his perfect, between the eyes aim. He laughed from behind Dimitri and dropped the rest of his gathered ammunition, “I could get used to this!”

Amused, the prince sent him a smile, “You’re just a one man trebuchet, aren’t you?”

He grinned, “Aren’t I? Now,” he sighed heavily and let the tension in his shoulders fall, “I think that's all of them.”

Edelgard straightened up with her ax clutched in her hand, and tangled silver hair falling over her shoulders like a waterfall. Silence fell between the classmates as they listened for any other approaching footsteps, the crunch of leaves or the rustle of the forest around them. Fortunately, the only sound was the chirp of the returning birds, and the buzz of the surrounding bugs. 

Peace, at last. 

"So," the Duke's grandson stole the silence away, "to whom do we have the honor?" 

Claude’s words drew all eyes to the dark haired girl. She winced under the gaze of the students, "Me?"

"Yes, you." Edelgard this time, hands on her hips and brows furrowed. The girl returned her accusing gaze with a grimace. 

In the aftermath of the battle, Dimitri could now look at her far more closely than before, to see her for real and notice the little details of her countenance. Delicate shoulders held like a noble's, choppy hair that flipped out from her face wildly, the darkness of her eyes, the thick lashes that lined them, and the button nose sitting between a set of low cheekbones. She didn't look like anyone he'd seen in the classes before, but she had to have been around his age. 

A flash of familiarity. A flash of memory. Dimitri frowned, but the truth refused to come to mind. 

She shifted under their gazes, “I’m just out here, uh… looking for Jeralt Eisner,” she looked as if she realized her mistake earlier, how obvious she had been in her intent when she asked about the professor’s whereabouts. She winced at herself. Edelgard’s eyes only narrowed in suspicion.

“Why?” The princess’s tone was sharp, burrowing into this girl’s skin like needles. Another wince, her fingers flexing in sudden nervousness. 

“I’m…” the girl bit her lip, “I’m a nun. Rhea sent me-”

“Nuns don’t dress like that.” Now, Claude was intrigued. 

“We do outside of the Monastery.”

“Nuns can’t _fight_ like that.”

“I was, uh,” the girl shuffled in place, “I was born in Faerghus, been doing this all my life.”

Now, that made perfect sense. It was time for Dimitri to step in, as his citizen’s dignity was on the line. He moved forward to take the place at her side and crossed his arms, glaring at his classmates in unhidden disappointment. Their suspicion and curiosity was on the verge of bullying, and he would not stand for it, “I can vouch for that, it’s not out of the ordinary for even our holy people to know self defense. I believe her, and I’d appreciate it if you’d stop putting her on the spot.”

“Oh, come on,” Claude offered a defensive hand, tilting his head with that maddening smile of his, “you have to admit this is super weird!”

Edelgard crossed her arms, “I must agree. It’s certainly out of the ordinary.”

Beside him, the girl wore her obvious nervousness, shuffling in place and fiddling with her sleeves. She pursed her lips and glanced up at Dimitri, “Can I go now? I really just need to find Jeralt.”

The princess now scoffed, “What if she’s an assassin? It would explain a lot-”

“Especially,” Claude intervened, “her very obvious lies.”

He would argue for the integrity of this girl until the sun set, if that was what he must do. Frowning, he sighed, “You two must trust others in order to be competent rulers. It would do you some good to make allies out of strangers.”

“Oh, shut it,” Edelgard snapped, “you’re going to get a knife in your back if you keep thinking that way.”

“I really don’t think you’ll succeed if you suspect something of everybod-”

“I don’t think _you’ll_ succeed if you’re assassinated from trusting random strangers!”

“She saved our lives.”

“Just to reach her target!”

"You don't know that."

She seethed, "I am _not_ stupid, Dimitri. I can put two and two together."

"You're putting things together out of nothing, Edelgard."

"I think you're blind."

“Edelgard, plea-”

“No, _you_ -”

Claude intervened in just the right moment, his hands raised as he stepped between the siblings, “Now, now, don’t fight, your royal highnesses. I think we _really_ should focus more on the matter at hand.”

A huff, her arms crossing over her chest once more as if challenging Claude to argue further with her. She leaned her weight on her leg and raised a skeptical brow, “Oh? And what’s that?”

“Well..."

"Spit it out."

He snorted in amusement, "Stabby knife lady just left. She’s long gone.”

“... Dammit.”

* * *

Byleth had a habit of popping up out of nowhere. She’d done it all her life. 

“Father!”

Jeralt nearly spilled his beer. 

“What in Goddess’s na- Oh.” His face fell from surprise, changing to utter disbelief at the girl before him. He could only stand there, outside of the tavern, and take in the sight. 

Where in the hell did she even come from? Did she drop down from the sky? He wouldn’t doubt it. 

His daughter was dressed common, in dark clothes, with a bloodied dagger at her side. Jeralt eyed the weapon with a tired look, exhaustion coursing through his body. He sighed, and took another sweet, long swig of his beer. He needed it. Byleth watched with parted lips and wide eyes, waiting for him to react. 

"Okay," he sighed and hung his head, "two questions. One... what the hell are you doing here? And two... who did you kill to get here?"

She inhaled sharply, “The rope-”

He nodded. He took another drink and plopped down onto the bench.

“Then I poisoned my tutor-”

And he nearly spit out his drink, “ _What_?”

“Just a little,” she held up two fingers as if to signify just how ‘little’ she meant, “I stole some cleaner from the maid, that weird homebrew she uses to make the room smell good, you know? I slipped some into his morning tea, and then he started throwing up everywhere, and I mean _everywhere_. I told Rhea that I felt as if I was going to vomit too, so she gave us both the day off.”

A pleased smile, far larger than he’d seen her wear so far. Her eyes sparkled, and his heart jumped for joy. He couldn’t help but return the grin, even if it was about poisoning her tutor and tricking the Archbishop.

He’d raised a good kid, that much was obvious. 

“So,” his eyes flickered down to the dagger at her side, “Who’d you stab?”

She waved a nonchalant hand and plopped down next to him on the bench, “Oh, just some bandits or something. They jumped me while I was on the road, and then I ran into these three students-”

He froze mid-drink. 

“-and we fought them off together. I slipped away while they were distracted.”

Slowly, heart racing in his ears, he lowered the beer mug to his lap and stared ahead of him. Inside of the tavern, laughter erupted through the walls, as if it was mocking him and his asinine choices in life. 

He, really, shouldn’t have left those brats alone. That apprentice teacher didn't have an intelligent bone in his body. 

“Are they… alive?”

Byleth shrugged carelessly, “Last time I checked, yes.”

“Were they… hurt?”

“Don’t think so.”

“Did they… say anything about me?”

She thought for a moment, finger at her chin, “The blond one told me you were here in Remire buying weapons.” Eyeing his cold beer, she frowned, “You were just getting around to it, huh?”

Jeralt stood in a moment’s notice. He shoved the mug into her hands, and nodded with a serious expression that spoke of the panic running through his mind. It was his first week of teaching, and he’d already messed up. “Stay here, I’ll come get you tonight to take you back. Just _don’t_ get into trouble.”

Her nose was already in the mug, taking in the scent of something so foreign, something so spicy. She squinted down at the foamy liquid and frowned, “Father, I snuck out to see you, not to sit in this village by myself.”

He gave her a look that exemplified his stress, “Kid, you _know_ I’m working right now.” 

She bristled under his eyes. He certainly was _not_ working, he was sitting on a bench outside of a tavern, drinking foamy wheat-water and daydreaming. “I thought you’d be happy to see me.”

“Don’t give me those eyes,” Jeralt had no choice but to avert his gaze, he was in no position to be trapped under the big, blue, doe-eyed gaze of his daughter, “I _am_ happy, Byleth, but this really isn’t a good time… Goddess,” he ran a hand through his hair, sighing through his teeth, “I’ve got to find a weapons shop around here and get to those brats.”

Jeralt was far more frantic than Byleth was used to seeing. In silence, she watched him jog around the buildings, making his way to the market square in the hopes of building his cover story. 

On one hand, she felt bad for her father. He couldn’t have known how difficult it would be to watch over the students - they were different than knights, they weren’t covered in armor, they weren’t adults, and they _certainly_ didn’t have the anonymity that a knight had. Of course a group of bandits would target three teenagers who looked as if they had money, it seemed far too obvious. 

On the other hand, guilt ate away at her. Perhaps she was selfish for thinking her father could give her attention, perhaps she was stupid for not planning ahead, for not thinking about how her presence would effect his work. She gave none of those things any thought when shimmying down the rope that morning, the excitement and adrenaline of sneaking out had overshadowed her intelligence. 

Sighing, she tipped the mug back and took a bitter drink. At least she could be out of her room, and in a new place. She’d never visited Remire, and as simple as it seemed, it was still far more interesting than the Monastery. 

The village was so small that she could easily catch a glimpse of her father in the distance. He had a bow and lance jingling from his arms while he jogged to the entrance of the town. He raised a hand to wave, and hurried along, mouth moving with unheard words to whoever waited on the other side of the walls. 

Byleth sighed and took another drink. Jealousy boiled inside of her, like a hundred angry wasps inside of her stomach. She imagined those three students, with their nice uniforms and charming words, greeting her father and telling him of the freakishly odd girl they met along the road. In Byleth’s minds eye, he agreed with the description of his daughter, freakish and awkward, as if she’d never spoken to a new person before - it was very rare, at least, and always an experience that left her bubbling with worry over her own words. 

Standing up, she finished off the beer and turned towards the tavern door. She had no money, but she’d start a tab, and she’d have fun for once. She could at least _try_ to think optimistically about the situation. 

Even if her father was too busy for her - which was understandable, as she should’ve known her timing was impeccably terrible - she would have her fun. 

And she would let her life outside of the Monastery finally begin. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to mention a few things about the characterizations in this chapter, not that I'm worried, but just as a small note to myself and to any readers that may be wondering/interested:
> 
> Byleth, in the game, is raised as a mercenary and isn't spoiled or sheltered at all. Byleth, in this fic Is, has been in the Monastery all her life, in a nice room, spoiled with whatever she wants (besides freedom lol) and has always had her family's constant attention. While she's not a brat or an entitled person, she's still pretty sheltered in this situation, so that's why she makes these decisions sometimes that seem so dumb, or seem like she's being selfish - i.e. showing up to Remire and expecting her father to pay attention to her while he's working. She's learning, and will continue to learn! I just couldn't really write her as a caged up teenager with the personality of a 'worldly and wise' mercenary, that didn't make sense to me, so... naive and a little bit oblivious Byleth is what we get! She'll grow up, though, as the story moves along. 
> 
> Also, on the account of Jeralt being a terrible teacher and leaving the kids alone... He's just not very good at taking care of kids, he's never been a professor. I also just like writing idiot plots sometimes, I have to resist the urge constantly to make everybody dumb. Anyway, that's all I wanted to mention! It's not very important, but I like this fic a lot so I just want to talk about it all the time in any way possible.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!


	8. Swim

_ The universe is under no obligation to make sense to you. _

* * *

There was something so interesting about the people of Remire, Byleth couldn’t quite put her finger on it. 

“Do you want the _really_ squished bread, or the _slightly_ squished bread?”

“Why would I pick the really squished bread?”

“ _I_ like my bread squished, I won’t assume your preferences.”

Byleth was in utter, complete awe. 

She liked squished bread as well! 

With her mouth gaping and her chin resting in her palm, she watched the exchange. The apple salesman had allowed her to sit on his empty crate, her throne of splinters and sweet smells. She’d spent _at_ _least_ an hour sitting on the side of the market square and watching the villagers peddle back and forth over the simplest of goods - like squished bread, the best kind. 

“Come on, the bread isn’t _that_ flat!” 

Simply fascinating. 

An old woman that was grocery shopping had passed her by several times, sending a sincere smile towards her as if she was one of her children. Byleth met her eyes, finding herself delighted at _not_ seeing the woman wince in response. Eventually, she couldn’t help the chuckle escaping her lips as she took the spot besides the odd girl, “You’ve been sittin’ here a while, I’ve never seen you in the village before.”

“It’s just for the day,” Byleth glanced up, “I’m waiting on my father to pick me up.”

“Who’s your father?” 

“Oh,” a secretive, barely-there smile, “just this old man.”

The woman hummed and shimmied her grocery bags higher up on her arms, “Why’re you staring at them?”

The two people arguing over bread - they seemed like old friends with the best kind of rivalry. And it was so mundane, the bartering. Curiously, Byleth tilted her head, “I just never think about where my food comes from, how much it costs or what it’s like before it’s cooked.”

“Oh! Lucky you!” 

A frown, “I suppose. It just feels like there’s this entire world hidden from me.”

The woman leaned on one hip and sighed, “I’ve _always_ known this world, surviving day to day and haggling just to save one copper piece.” She looked down at Byleth, smiling, “But it has its charms, I suppose. I learned how to cook well, and I can sew pretty dresses, and I get to have a nice garden.”

Cooking, sewing, gardening. It sounded spectacular. She glanced up, “I think I’ll try all of that, thanks.”

“Well, you’re welcome I guess.”

This woman was kind, with the face of a mother. She smiled down at Byleth as if she didn’t understand her, but liked her anyway. To speak to someone who didn’t have a weapon at their waist was refreshing - someone who wasn’t paid to stand at her side. 

Byleth closed her eyes to take in the new sounds, the new scents. The hum of crickets as night fell, freshly cut grass. The woman smiled at a group of children running from one end of the market to the other, laughing amongst themselves. 

“You’re pretty odd.” She informed. 

Byleth nodded, “Could you teach me how to plant something?”

“Like a flower?”

“Anything - but sure, a flower would be nice.”

A motherly, joking sigh, and a roll of her eyes, “Only if you help me carry my groceries.”

Byleth not _only_ carried her groceries, but helped organize her cabinets, feed her child, and sweep her floors. She did them ease, despite never having attempted anything of the sort. She'd never had to sweep her own floors, and she'd never really been near a child. She didn't even have cabinets in her bedroom to organize! Once the light chores had been finished, Byleth approached the garden in the backyard. The ultimate, the newest, most intimidating challenge.  


She borrowed a pair of old working gloves. She'd only ever worn gloves for fighting, never for planting. She'd heard of the existence of a greenhouse on the academy campus, yet she'd never been inside of it. The most she saw of flowers were the ones Jeralt picked for her, and she never held the seeds. The garden, in it's green, fragrant existence, beckoned her to the challenge. She dropped down into the dirt and began empty the cloth sack of seeds that she'd been give. They were supposed to be sunflowers, yellow and tall. She'd never seen them before, but she was excited nonetheless. 

The crowd that gathered around her was gradual, unnoticed until it had grown into a sizable group of 10. All of them watching her push seeds into the dirt. 

Soon, the people arguing over the bread had joined and informed her that she was planting them too high. Then the apple salesman informed her that she’d watered it too much. The mother and her children sang a song that was meant to help the seed grow faster - Byleth didn’t believe in it much, but the song was catchy at least.  It felt good to garden, to do something for herself. She’d never tried to grow anything on her own other than her own hair, and that wasn’t very exciting at all. The townspeople seemed just as excited about gardening as she was. 

“You can come back anytime,” the older woman informed sweetly, “come check on your flowers.” 

She didn’t know how often she’d be able to do that, yet she nodded in agreement nonetheless. But she'd try her best, eager to see what her seeds would become. She didn't think the greenhouse had sunflowers, or else her father would've brought her one. To think, a flower named after the sun itself, she could only imagine how it looked.  


It was dark by the time Jeralt arrived to pick her up. He wore a scowl, tousled hair and dark eye bags. With the blanket of night passing over the village, Byleth had abandoned her garden and taken to sitting beside the fire in the middle of the town square. She bounced a toddler on her knee, talking of whatever came to mind. Several other villagers had gathered for their chance to tell the strange girl about their simple lives, feeding off her out-of-place interest. 

Jeralt strode through the shadows of the night to approach the area where Byleth sat. Her face reflected in the golden glow, flickering against her cheeks. His irritation began to dissipate like mist when watching her eyes light up, and her mouth open in surprise. She looked as if she’d completely forgotten he existed. 

He wanted to ask her why she sat in the middle of a group, keeping the exact opposite of a profile that he’d asked her to keep. Instead, he sighed, “Had your fun?”

Byleth looked serious in the shadows of the fire, “Yes, yes I have. I gardened, and I helped cook a roast.” 

All Jeralt could do was glance at the supposed owner of said garden and roast, and sigh, “Sorry about this. She doesn’t get out much.”

The woman flicked an absent hand, “She’s fine, it’s been nice having a guest. By-By can come over anytime.” 

By-By. Her daughter had a nickname, and a _friend_. Jeralt couldn’t help his smile as he looked at his starry eyed child, “Ready to go, kid?”

She said her goodbyes - even giving a few people hugs, she very rarely hugged - and followed the exhausted Jeralt out of the small village. She smelled like fresh soil and mint\\. Her bangs stuck to her head with sweat. 

“How’re things back home?”

Jeralt sighed heavily. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes as he walked. The light of Remire and it’s people faded in the darkening night, quiet under the presence of Garreg Mach just two miles away. Her father had to have been tired with the day he’d just dealt with, “We don’t want it to get out.” 

They don’t want her escape and assault to get out? Or did he mean the attack on those students? Byleth pursed her lips, “What?”

“Those kids,” he scowled, digging into his jacket to find his flask, “they’re royalty, all three of ‘em.” Besides Claude, but he was close enough in Jeralt’s eyes, even if the kid didn’t act like it. He was just unfortunate enough to be teaching the class with the most proper and knightly of the three. 

Byleth didn’t catch on as quickly as she’d have liked. She’d barely thought of those students, having only been with them for a few moments during the fighting. She didn’t quite appreciate their accusations either. “What does it matter?”

“Just don’t say anything about the attack to your guards,” he dipped the flask back, “we don’t want their parents to be tight asses about it.”

Understandable, as foreign as it all seemed to her. Her father truly did look exhausted from the day he'd had, she knew that he was serious in his warning. Her knights were notorious for their gossip. “Ah, the life of a child care professional.”

“ _Professor_ , I’m a professor.” 

So defensive. The tension in the air dissipated as she allowed a subtle smile, “Suuure.”

Tired, he sighed, “ _Anyway_ , Rhea even told me to not bother you tonight. You’re too sick, apparently.”

She bristled in amusement, “I’m too clever, aren’t I?”

“You’re too damn reckless, that’s what.” 

it was an in instance that the tension returned, thick and confusing. Byleth sent him a quieting look. Her lips set into a thin line as she walked, arms crossing over her chest in a defensive position. Her father always had to find a lecture, even when the pride shone from his face. He was more of a stereotypical dad than he liked to admit. He was not nearly as cool as he preferred to play.  


“I had fun,” she admitted, “I hid my rope in the tree branches outside my window, I covered my tracks, and lied to those students. I told them I was a nun,” a glare cast towards her father, “it wasn’t reckless.”

Jeralt didn’t miss a beat, “You _also_ were seen by every villager back there.”

“It’s not like they know who I am-“

“They might one day!”

Byleth stopped in her tracks, in the middle of the road. Garreg Mach was lit up like a star in the distance. His implication had struck her as odd, her future was so very rarely spoken about between her family. She had begun to assume that she'd be unknown for her entire life, she couldn't imagine being famous enough to be known by the kind villagers of Remire. They had better things to focus on than her. Her brows knit together as she stared up at her father, “I had fun! I made friends, and nobody got hurt.”

He returned her harsh gaze, “Those brats told me how you were being chased too. You could’ve gotten killed, By.”

He sounded like Rhea, as correct as he was. “But I _wasn_ ’t, and I’m not going to leave Garreg Mach again-“

“Correct, you _won_ ’ _t_ -“

“But I _will_ leave my room,” her eyes were wide, fists clenched. She was arguing for what her father had always wanted for her, “Every night, if I can. I want to garden, I want to swim in the pond and pet all the dogs. I’ve gotten a taste of what life is like for normal people, and I want to get as close as I possibly can, father.” 

As close as she possibly can, with whatever Garreg Mach could offer. It wasn't much, it never would be, but she could have a taste of it. The ‘please’ in her reply was silent, obvious in the tone of her voice. It shone in her eyes as she stared up at him. 

Sneaking out and living like a normal person as much as she possibly could. 

Jeralt would be lying if he said he didn’t want the same. She deserved normality, even if she could never _truly_ achieve it. 

His frustration began to fade like a fire doused by water. He sighed, “I get it,” pushing a choppy lock of hair behind her ear, his voice grew soft into a tone only she and Sitri ever heard, “I won’t stop you.”

If Byleth could beam, she would’ve. “Thank you.”

“But I have one condition.” 

Her face fell. Jeralt could not possibly hold back the laugh in his voice. She nearly pouted, just one trembling lip away from being a petulant child. He oftentimes forgot just how sheltered she was. 

“You can not tell anyone who you are,” he commanded, “try to keep a low profile and don’t be seen. If someone knows who you are they may try to use you.”

She wrinkled her nose in confusion, “What for?”

“Power,” he shrugged, “secrets, money.” 

Three things that Byleth believed that she had very little of. What could they possibly want with her? Byleth, who had been locked in the monastery all of her life. Byleth, who only had her books, her studies, her all-encompassing boredom. There was nothing that they could possibly steal from her.  


Yet, Jeralt looked so serious. He knew something she did not. 

“Nobles are slimy." He whispered, "Don’t trust _anyone_.”

Don’t trust anyone. Don’t trust anyone, because nobles are slimy and _apparently_ she has power, secrets and money. 

Byleth let his warning sink into her mind and take root like the seeds she had just planted in Remire. They would sprout, either to wither or to grow. She had to be careful.  


“I’ll try my best, father.” 

* * *

Dimitri truly did not care for using advanced faith magic on the battlefield, and was already quite tired from the night before. He had no aptitude for _any_ color of magic, the dining hall had ran out of coffee before he could get any, and he had that one nightmare again that he had every other day for the last 4 years. 

It was not a very good day, so far. 

“Lord Blaiddyd, you’re drooling.”

It was the fear that woke him, rather than the sound of professor Eisner’s voice. It was the implication that he was making a puddle of his own spit while dozing off into his hand.  He started up, looking down at his desk for any sign of dripping bodily fluids. It was dry, his cheek was dry. His heart had skipped an unnecessary beat. 

At the head of the room, professor Eisner waved a nonchalant hand, “Sometimes, trickery is the best weapon. I know you classic Faerghus knights don’t care for that much,” his eyes flickered to a frowning Ingrid, “but when important things are on the line, like Dimitri’s education, then use your wits. Work smarter, class, not harder.”

He could _really_ use a cup of coffee. He wasn’t sure what exhausted him more: his insomnia, or professor Eisner’s rambly lectures. 

Dimitri much preferred to work harder anyway.  


“I apologize for my rudeness,” he allowed an awkward chuckle, feeling the eyes of his classmates on his back, “I trained a lot last night and didn’t get much sleep.”

As always. The entire week had been spent like this. He knew that it was rude to doze off during a lecture, but he got the feeling that Jeralt didn't care very much. Dimitri tried to only fall asleep on the parts of the class that didn't apply to his own skill-set very much, it seemed as if that was the only time his mind would turn off for a moment. It was a short, sweet escape from his nightmares. 

Jeralt chewed on his class leader's words. The two were almost like a partners, Dimitri having helped him organize the class schedule just a few days earlier. The blade breaker was far more unorganized than he liked to let on. Dimitri couldn't help but appreciate the humanity of the man, and his obvious faults. How he had left him in the woods with an apprentice professor just a week ago, how he looked when Annette asked a complicated question, how he assigned very little homework through the week simply because that meant more work for him. He was human - it was refreshing. 

Professor Eisner allowed a sigh, clasping his hands and gazing out at his class, “I think we’re all a bit tired, aren’t we? Let’s take a break.” 

The obedient silence of the classroom broke with a chorus of exhales. Dimitri was sure _he_ sighed the loudest. His head had begun to pound with the threat of a migraine, and he was begging to get away from the light. 

Jeralt was good about giving his class breaks throughout the day, though Dimitri suspected that it was more because he needed a drink, rather than out of concern for his students. He watched as his professor walked around the desk and plopped down into his comfy looking chair, putting his feet up. His eyes met Dimitri’s, and he waved a hand at him. 

Around him, his classmates buzzed with sudden energy. Annette stretched and yawned, Mercedes opened her box of snacks - with Ingrid eyeing her hungrily. Ashe turned around to speak to Dedue vibrantly. Nobody would notice the exchange happening at the front of the room, away from the buzz of conversation behind them. He approached with his textbooks nestled into the crook of his arm. While his eyes were still heavy, he tried his best to pay attention. 

“Can I assist you with something, professor?” He rolled on his heels, brows raised. Jeralt continued to tap his fingers expectantly, which only proved to make the prince more on edge with expectation.  


“I just… uh...” 

Uh. Curiosity crept through Dimitri's expectant anxiety. Professor Eisner was rarely short of words, always getting to the point as quickly as he could. It was odd to see him fidget under his own self. "Is everything okay?"

Jeralt gritted his teeth into a grimace, “Listen, I’m not good at this crap, gimme a minute." A short pause, as he stared past the prince's shoulder in heavy thought, "...It’s just been a week since the whole drills thing in the forest, you’ve been dozing off in class, and you look like shit, frankly.” 

He got to the point, remaining succinct in his manner. Dimitri straightened up at his words. He didn’t _think_ he looked very bad - he knew his under-eye bags were dark, and his hair was tousled worse than usual. Yet, nobody had dared to speak to him in such a way before. 

It was absolutely refreshing. 

“I really do apologize for falling asleep,” he ran a hand through his hair and offered a bashful smile, “I never do that.”

“You’ve done it all week, kid,” Jeralt wasn’t sure if it was legal to call the future King of Faerghus ‘kid’, but legalities had never stopped him before, “I’m not good at this stuff, but, uh… Are you okay?”

Was he okay? Never, not in the past four years. 

It took a moment for Dimitri to process the conversation. Professor Jeralt, the rough knight of legend who cared little for emotional nonsense, was asking him if he was okay. It had to be for a reason - Dimitri helped him run the class, and would be the future leader of Faerghus, where Jeralt was from. Of course he would look out for him, in his own odd and gruff way. It was endearing, oddly enough. It reminded him of Gustave. 

He offered a smile, trying his best to look assuring, “I’m okay, thank you.”

He looked so incredibly awkward as he tapped on his desk and averted his eyes. he grimaced as if he was in pain. “Just, you know, being in battle and all can be hard.”

“I’ve seen worse,” a humorless huff under his breath, “I’ve _been_ in worse. Truth be told, I just don't sleep in general."  It was an exaggeration, but a minor one. The Blaiddyd crest allowed him extra stamina, so he oftentimes would keep awake until he collapsed. He just hoped to not do that at the academy, where rumors would most certainly spread if he face planted in the courtyard. Dedue would not be happy with him either, he needed to avoid _that_ conversation for as long as possible.  


Jeralt’s discomfort began to melt away. He leaned back in his chair, still grimacing. He looked tired, as he had all week, but Dimitri only assumed that he was simply adjusting to life as a professor. It had to be far different than being a knight. “That’s good, I mean it’s _not_ , but at least it’s not what I thought.”

What exactly did he think? Dimitri smiled without humor, “I certainly wasn’t traumatized from _that_ battle… The nun with the knife was a bit odd, but that wasn't traumatizing at all.”

Jeralt snorted. He rolled his eyes and looked the prince over, an uninterested glance that doubled as a poker face, “Don’t give her any thought, she’s just an insane lady. Just get some sleep,” he began digging into his coat for something, “Stop staying up so late, stop training all night, do your homework. All that nice stuff.”

He’d been doing his homework while staying up all night, he thought it had worked out well. Trying to look confident, he nodded, “I’ll do my best, professor Eisner.”

"Get outta here, your friends left you behind."  


He hadn't noticed the sudden silence of the classroom behind him. Looking over his shoulder, he caught sight of Felix stalking out of the doors and into the courtyard, most likely heading for the training ground. Everybody was gone, having left him behind without a word. Or perhaps he simply didn't hear their goodbyes. The Blue Lions oftentimes left class early, going their own ways for the rest of the day. Dimitri sighed, "I really will try my best to sleep. It's not proper for me to doze off in class."  


Jeralt was already sucking from his flask by the time the prince looked at him. He exhaled in relief, and closed his eyes as he leaned back further into his chair, "Just close your eyes, kid, stop thinking so much."

If only it was that easy. Dimitri had meant his promise, but his bedroom ceiling was entirely too boring to stare at for seven hours. 

His eyes were heavy, yet they refused to close. His legs were restless, refusing to be still. His heart was racing, for he knew what would happen when he fell asleep. He knew what awaited him. 

That was simply enough to make him roll out of bed and pull his shirt back on, his pants and boots, throwing a jacket over his shoulders to ward against the midnight air. It was far past curfew, and always colder at night.  


Dimitri truly thought he had done everything right. The half drank cup of chamomile tea sat cold on his nightstand had promised to make him tired. Yet, it had failed. He had eaten a heavy dinner, and he had even read a book to tire himself out. None of it worked, and he once again was leaving his dorm and escaping into the empty night outside.  


This was his favorite time of day. It was pitch black. He could hear Sylvain snoring from his room down the hall. Dimitri walked heel to toe so he could make it outside without waking his neighbors. The bottom of the stairs neared, and he pushed the heavy door open to allow the  cold air of the night touch his cheeks, like a lovers caress. He closed his eyes and took it in. He preferred the chill far more than the warmth of spring that dominated the day time. He’d always been partial to night, to the dark and the cold. It almost felt like Faerghus. 

Softly, he shut the door behind him and stepped off the porch, already feeling better than when inside his room. There was something so suffocating about laying in bed, trying your best to sleep - only to fail. There was no point laying in bed when he could be doing something far more productive.  He took in his surroundings, the green house, the slinking cats and the bushes that hid them, the stars twinkling above. This was far, far better than his bedroom ceiling. 

Most nights, he would go to the knight's hall and train. Dedue would oftentimes join him, a fellow sufferer of insomnia and nightmares. The nighttime was a peaceful moment stolen out of the constant thinking of the day, a private time where Dimitri could finally focus on what he came to Garreg Mach for. He had failed to keep his promise to professor Eisner, but he had tried his best. That was what mattered. 

It was a quiet night, with the crickets singing in their hidden places. He loved the sound of it, the sound of oncoming spring. Wrapping his jacket closer, he began his walk - o nly to be immediately distracted by the oddest of sights. 

The pond was an inky glass pool that reflected the curve of the moon above. Lily pads floated peacefully on the surface, undisturbed by the fish below. It was so clear, one could see their image in the water. And tonight, the image that shone across the soft ripples was that of a stranger dressed in light blue, staring at herself.  


A girl. A girl, standing on the harbor. She was perfectly still, incredibly ghostly. And she had not seemed to notice his presence nearby yet.  


If Dimitri hadn’t seen ghosts for the last four years, he’d be unnerved. The only difference is that the ghosts he saw were familiar, bloodied and entirely _too_ real. This girl was a stranger to him, and entirely too ethereal.  


Quiet, he drew closer.

The girl faced the pond, her light blue nightdress whipping around her legs in the midnight breeze. Her hair looked half braided, wind blown. Her skin was pale as if she’d never been outside. His heart rose in his chest and up to his ears in anticipation with what would happen if he spoke, if he touched her, if he did anything that might catch her attention. Would she disappear? Would she attack him? Would she scream and curse and wake up the rest of the monastery, letting everybody know that he defied curfew? Would she steal him away in the night? He had to know. He had to see if she was real, in all of her light blue, windblown majesty.  


If Dimitri was intelligent, he’d turn around and go to the knights hall to train like he usually did. 

But sometimes he chose to not be intelligent. Instead, he would straighten his shoulders, and he would gather his confidence. And he would speak to the ghost.  


“Are you okay?”

And she defied all of his expectations. 

She screamed. She jumped, and stumbled over her own feet. Her body twisted and her arms flailed as she tried to catch herself mid-fall. She let out another girlish shriek while Dimitri lunged to catch her. Yet, she fell backwards, further away from him while she stumbled and toppled into the pond below with the loudest splash possible. The sudden disturbance of the water  retaliated, splashing up against his face and soaking through his jacket. 

The ghost girl had fallen into the pond. She had not cursed him, had not stolen him away. She fell into the pond in the clumsiest way possible. 

Adrenaline rushed through his ears while he stripped off his boots and threw aside his jacket. They landed on the dry harbor behind him, waiting for his return. He had to help this girl, flailing in the inky water under the harbor. She could've hit her head on the bottom, or she could've swallowed some water, or she could've been very bad at swimming. He had no choice. He knew what he must do.  


He jumped in after her without a second thought. 

If only he had stopped to look for a moment and notice that the girl was _not_ drowning. 

The water was cold, shockingly so. It woke up every inch of his body. The pond itself was slimy, something slithered past his feet as he tread in place while looking for the odd girl in the darkness. Across from him, she struggled to keep her floating dress down under the water. It was automatic as his hands went for her waist to hold her still and keep her from sinking under.  The water stung at his eyes, yet he opened them through the blurriness to see her, floating there, barely visible and soaking wet. Her mouth hung open in shock, before she swallowed a bite of water and spit it back out beside him. "W-What?"  


What was she saying 'what' about? Her eyes widened in unconcealed surprise as she took in the sight of the boy floating across from her, holding her waist underwater. Dimitri felt the curve of her hips under his hands. She was incredibly light as the water held her in place, though he would not have much trouble holding her up no matter the surroundings. Usually, he would never dare to touch a woman like this, with his hands holding her so tightly, but this was not under normal circumstances. At least he had the assurance that she was not truly a ghost - she was far too real under his fingertips. 

“I-I’m… I, uh, I don’t think I’m drowning.” 

She sounded shocked at that fact, for some reason.  


His heart calmed at the sound of her voice. At least her lungs were not filled with slimy pond water, though a lily pad slid down the side of her wet hair. Taking a deep breath, kicking the water to stay afloat, he loosened his grip on her hips and pulled away, “No, I don't think you are. Thank goodness.”

“No!” it was a sudden shriek, with her lunging at him through the water, arms outstretched, “I can’t swim! I’ve never swam!”

Even he had not swam very often in his life, it was very rarely warm enough in Fhirdiad to do so. Yet, it had come so naturally to him, so naturally that he attempted to save a drowning stranger without much experience in doing so. Once again, his hands reached out through the water to take a hold of her arms, steadying her as she kicked and paddled in her attempts to draw closer to him. Once his skin made contact with hers, the panic in her eyes melted away.  


With the frantic splashing over, he could speak now,“You just kick your legs,” softly, he held her wrists above her head, watching her wide eyes across from him as she floated in place, “and move your arms. You were doing it earlier.”  


He had to remember to not squeeze her wrists too hard. He'd trained all of his life to control his strength, but in the heat of the moment it was difficult to keep the power of his crest at bay. He slowed his breath, exhaling slowly through parted lips as he focused on holding her wrists. They were frail between his fingers, like a bird's neck. He felt in control as he swam backwards, pulling her along with him while they cut through the dark waters. 

The girl who he previously thought was a member of the undead only looked at him with wide, shocked eyes, “I don’t _know_ what I was doing earlier! I've never swam before!”

“You were treading water,” an assurance, slightly amused, mostly confused, “come on, let me just pull you to the edge.”

Dimitri thought, for a moment, that he heard a whispered ‘thank you’, but the splashing of the water covered her words. Facing her, Dimitri kicked backwards, bringing his back closer to the stone edge of the pond where he could climb back up. She faced him with her brows furrowed and her dark hair stuck to her skin. Her breathing was loud, but steady, as she allowed him to pull her through the water.

“We’re almost there…” he glanced over his shoulder, “I’m glad I was here to help.”

Even though _he_ was the one that caused her to fall into the pond in the first place. She offered a frown, several steps ahead of his line of thought, “ _You_ ’ _re_ the reason why I fell.”

“And for that, I apologize.” His back gently knocked against the side. It was no problem for him to turn around, letting her tread water on her own and putting his palms flat against the stone. He pulled himself up and plopped onto the ground, dripping wet. With wide eyes, she raised her hands, and he held them gently as he pulled her up onto land beside him. 

She fell onto the pavement far less gracefully than him. Landing on her side and wrapping her arms around herself, she let out a gasp of relief. Her dress stuck to her body in the absolute most immodest of ways. Dimitri looked away simply for her sake, there was absolutely nothing she could hide under the flimsy, light nightgown. Her breathing was heavy, but her eyes wide, arms resting out beside her body while she lay on her back, looking up at the stars.  


“That… wow,” an airy voice, full of something he couldn’t quite identify, “I’ve never been swimming before.”

“...I don’t think I’d really call that swimming.”

She sat up, the noise of her movement drawing his eyes to her form. Immediately, he shut them and scrambled onto his feet, “A-Are you cold?” His jacket was laying on the harbor, dry, and dark, and _modest_. He had never thrown something at a woman before, but it was for a good cause this time. It was for something she _truly_ _needed_ in that moment with how tightly that night dress stuck to her form.  


He should’ve gone to the knight’s hall tonight instead. 

She caught his jacket as he tossed it towards her, her face flickering in momentary confusion. She slipped her arms through the holes as if it was her own. "Thank you," she answered, pulling her knees up to herself and wrapping her arms around her legs. Her shoulders shook in the breeze of the night, and her eyes shut tightly against the kiss of the air. It truly was too cold this night to be dripping a wet, flimsy nightgown.  “To answer your question earlier," her voice shook along with her body, "yes, I’m okay.”

He was sure his mouth hung open. He looked almost comical with his dripping hair falling into his eyes, his shirt leaving a puddle of slimy pond water at his feet. He knew that his expression was dumbfounded, but at least he could look at her without threatening her integrity now. The jacket covered her well, though she remained a dim silhouette under the light of the moon. Her words didn't make much sense, yet nothing about this situation _did_. "Excuse me?"  


“You asked if I was okay, before I fell in. And yes, I was - _am_. I am. I’m great, actually.”

Because she swam for the first time, he assumed. “That’s… very nice to hear, at least.”

Could he possibly be _more_ awkward? He wasn't sure if he could, he most likely had reached his limit of humiliation. 

Around them, the crickets resumed their song of the night, as if they had been waiting for the conversation to stop so they could truly be heard. The noise was calming, coupling perfectly with the soft wave of the disturbed pond beneath the harbor. It was interesting how nature always resumed itself after humanity's dramatics ended. The silence of the night had returned. Time moved once more, and the girl was entirely quiet in the way he had first found her just minutes earlier. 

She stared at the water, hands wrapped around her legs. Her eyes were dark, her eyelashes a silhouette of their own. He watched her in silence. At least he knew that she wasn't a spirit now, even if he didn't truly believe in such things. Sometimes, the world liked to prove him wrong. He was just happy it wasn't one of those moments. She was human, oddly enough. She didn't quite seem normal, with her blank face and her stiff movements. 

And finally, she decided to speak. 

“You seem familiar.”

Her voice, not shrieking at him from across the water any longer, was so _incredibly_ familiar. It bothered him. “So do you.”

“It’s too dark out here.”

“Yes, it is.” The moon above provided just enough light to catch the outline of her face, the soft cheeks and the dark hair. He was glad she didn’t fall into the pond wearing a flimsy nightgown during the _day_ _time_ , that would’ve been disastrous. 

This girl would remain on his mind, he could predict that easily enough. Her fingers clutched the sides of his jacket as she shivered in her spot, dripping a puddle onto the stone sidewalk. Yet, she smiled. A subtle smile, barely visible in the soft light of the moon. He sent her a glance and let the flicker of familiarity erupt inside of him - an annoying feeling, one that sat on his tongue and teased him. Where had he heard that voice before? Where had he seen that silhouette with the button nose and the dark eyes? He’d never encountered an odd girl in the night before, she was a new installment on the campus, in his nighttime walks. 

Yet, of course, he usually spent his insomniac bouts in the knight’s hall. Perhaps she was in the same position as him, roaming the campus grounds and contemplating how to swim. 

It would be incredibly rude to go on without an introduction. He left the harbor to sit beside her and stare at the pond. There was no way he could find himself forgetting the experience, he might as well leave her with something of himself. 

“Dimitri,” his voice was sudden, almost too loud over the sound of her shivers next to him, “er, that is, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd.”

This would usually be the moment that someone’s eyes would widen. This would _usually_ be the part where they tacked on the title, and beat themselves up for speaking so casually to him. 

This girl, dripping wet, wearing his jacket, staring at the moon reflected into the dark water, did none of those things. She didn’t react at all. 

“That’s nice.”

It _was_ nice, he supposed, a nice name. This would also usually be the part where someone would introduce themselves. The girl furrowed her brows, continued her staring, and stayed silent. 

Odd. Strange, more so by the second. 

Where had he seen her before? He tried his best to not stare at her, if only to conjure up some memory hidden deep in his brain. He knew that she had appeared to him before, that voice was peculiar, distinct, with a melodic tone that reminded him of Lady Rhea’s. If only it wasn’t so dark a night, he could examine her face better. 

Seemingly unaware to his subtle glances, she tilted her head and rested her chin on her knees. Her eyes closed as she spoke, “Thank you for making me fall in, Dimitri, I don’t think I would’ve done it without a push.”

He, technically, did not push her. He surprised her into falling, there was a difference. Yet, he would not argue semantics. His confusion grew, but his comfort raised along with it. And he had no jacket, so he was left to shiver. Sighing, he copied her position, bring his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around himself. 

She thanked him, she thanked him for making her get in the water. He couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to enter the cold, slime filled pond. Furrowing his brows, he cast her a glance, “What do you mean?”

A shrug, “I’ve never been swimming. Don’t the students swim here?”

“No… it’s really more for fishing.”

She couldn’t have been a student if she didn’t know that. Then, who was she? Why did her face sit on the tip of his tongue and tease him, as if he was so close to knowing where he’d seen the outline of that nose before, the silhouette of her arm or the sound of her voice. So close, at the front of his mind, yet refusing to be clear. 

Perhaps he _did_ need more sleep, perhaps this was a dream and he hadn’t realized it yet. The chill that sank down into his bones argued otherwise. 

The strange girl with the familiar voice frowned at his answer. Fishing, not swimming. Her frown looked more embarrassed, than displeased. “That’s gross, then. There’s probably fish poop in there.”

“Don’t remind me,” a sigh, “I was in there too.”

“Let me clean this jacket for you,” it felt slimy just being on her, “I can bring it to you tomorrow, if you like.”

It was his favorite jacket, but she’d gotten remnants of a shredded lily pad on the arm of it, green and goopy like crushed peas. “Where’ll you clean it?” If she was not a student, where could she possibly go? Back to the village she snuck in here from? To the marketplace? To the chapel?

She hummed, her lips an outline in the dark, “My room, where else? I borrowed a cloak before a long time ago, and never got to return it, so I’m very adamant about returning things, you see.”

He blinked, “If you never got to return it then shouldn’t that give you a track record that I cannot trust?”

“No, because that’s the _only_ thing I’ve never returned.”

A hum, a glance, “How can I trust you?” It was his favorite jacket, after all. 

She pushed herself up from the ground, the jacket oversized on her. It covered the parts that needed covering the most. The sleeves reached to the tips of her fingertips, while her hair lay flat on her shoulders, still dripping down the surface of his jacket. He wondered if it would smell like slime the next morning, or fish, or if she would wash it in the same soap she used for her clothes. He hoped it wasn’t lavender; lavender gave him headaches. 

She held out a hand for him to shake, a serious look on her face, “I swear on my honor that I will return this jacket to you, tomorrow night. Right here, at this very time.”

It wasn’t as if he could ever sleep, and it wasn’t as if he had plans for the following night. 

And tomorrow would be a full moon, meaning more light. Perhaps he could even bring a torch and get a closer look at the dark eyes staring back at him. 

It was far too tempting. 

“If it’s not too much trouble,” he allowed with a sigh, “that would be nice, thank you. It won’t be a laundry day for the students for a few days.” 

Her answer was quiet, almost as if she was touched by his trust in her laundry skills. She only proved to confuse him further with her answer, “You shouldn’t trust everybody you meet, Dimitri.”

“You… just _asked_ me to trust you?”

Her lips shut tightly. She looked away, pushing herself up from her spot and taking a step back. “Well, you shouldn’t. Except for this one time with your jacket.”

So, he could trust her with his jacket, but not with anything else. That wasn’t the way he preferred to live his life, and he’d gotten by just fine with his copious amounts of loyalty and trust. Amused, he let out a chuckle, “I prefer not to be subjective.”

Her chin lifted, though she did not have an air of arrogance. She looked moreso as if she was in a hurry for something, anxious to get away from the conversation. “My father told me that I really shouldn’t talk to anyone here, I assume it would be best for you to do the same. And I’m only saying this because you’re very kind, saving me and all. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Her voice, familiar, perhaps in a different tone than when he had heard it before. She was on the tip of his tongue, this girl. Her words were odd and her demeanor even moreso. He furrowed his brows in confusion and stood to look at her better, though she was far shorter than him. She held her shoulders back stiffly and her chin high, defensive. 

“It’s only been a week into classes and I’ve met many good people, _really_ good people. Who’s your father?” 

Who was he to suggest such a thing? And for what reason could he possibly do so? His classmates had all proven to be wonderful - with a few exceptions. Perhaps her father had only met Hubert and was traumatized from that point on. 

The girl blinked rapidly, she wore her nervousness like a mask. “None of your business. Now,” she turned towards the small steps of stairs that led up to the grassy area above, “I promise I’ll return this tomorrow, washed. But after that, try not to speak to me.”

Shock hit him like a slap to the face. “I sincerely apologize if I’ve wronged you in any wa-”

“You haven’t,” she had her back to him, arms holding his jacket close, “I was just told to not speak to anybody, so I’m not going to. It’s nothing personal.”

That was a relief, albeit a small one. He took a step towards her as she began her retreat up the steps, “Are you in trouble? Do you need help?”

There was the chance that she was a part of the slave trade going on in some parts of the Fodlan. He’d tried his best to eradicate the terrible practice in Faerghus, but it persevered under the noble’s noses. Yet, they could not possibly stop in Garreg Mach. He had faith that Lady Rhea would execute them for even  _ thinking  _ of doing such a thing. 

The girl stopped, mid step. She was above him now, turning around to look down on him with a flicker of uncertainty crossing over her features. She held his jacket close as if it was her lifeline. “I’m okay, I’m just…”

She was thinking. Her brows furrowed, her nose wrinkled. 

Dimitri was not one to take much notice of the women around him. Rufus and Sylvain had inadvertently caused him to disdain the act of staring down a woman as if to undress her with his eyes. He couldn’t bring himself to do it. Yet, he was still a boy, hormonal and emotional with his natural desires. 

And this girl was pretty. In the light of the moon above, in her light nightgown, wrapped in his jacket. Her hair had began to curl into itself as it dried, framing her shadowed face. 

It was hard to miss her attractiveness. She stared down at him from her spot on the stairs, lips parted in thought while she searched for an answer. Dimitri didn’t quite have a ‘type’, he never paid attention to such trivial things, and for good reason. But she was pretty. She was dark eyed and petite. He could only wonder what she looked like in the sunlight. 

For sure, the next night, he would bring a torch to get a closer look at her. Perhaps, then, he would realize where he had met her before. 

The girl straightened her shoulders, finally, and opened her mouth to give him an answer. Intently, he watched her fumble over herself. “I-I’m a very secretive person. I don’t wish to make friends or speak to anyone.”

Quite a few of the students at Garreg Mach had that attitude. He, even, felt that way at times. He had better things to do than make friends, but he could not remain uncharmed by the personalities of his classmates, despite his four year long plans. 

“I respect that,” he raised a hand, “but I assure you, the people here are not as bad as your father leads you to believe. And you can trust me to not do… whatever it is you’re afraid of.”

He did not even know her name, that would be the first step to trust. Yet, he would not push it, he _could not_ push it. She was like the stray cats on the campus, hiding in their bushes and hissing at anyone that came near.  The girl watched him warily. Her eyes lowered, staring at the ground as if it was incredibly interesting. She sighed, “Okay. This time, tomorrow?”

Success. 

“Yes,” an assuring nod, “right here, if that works for you.”

“It might…”

That was good enough for him. It was his favorite jacket, after all. 

She was ready to go, antsy as she watched him bow respectfully to her. “Goodnight.” 

“Goodnight,” hesitance flickered across her face while she turned away, “Get some sleep, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd. You look like shit.”

So he’d heard. 

The girl was lithe in her retreat, blending into the shadows of the buildings around her. She disappeared to the left of the grass, as far away from the commoner’s dorm rooms as she could possibly be. It was only the light color of her still-wet dress that gave her presence away, yet after a minute or so, he could not even see that. She was gone, disappearing around the corner, leaving him with far too many questions for comfort. 

He supposed that he should get some sleep, if he truly did look so bad. Sighing, he closed his eyes, standing in front of the pond. He was still wet, his socks felt terrible on his feet. The wind blew through him harshly. 

He’d for sure have a cold after this ordeal. 

Unfortunately for the people who had to look at him, sleep never came. It rarely did. 

4 a.m. in the saunas. Dimitri sat, clean, in the steam room, staring at the wall with heavy, tired eyes. 

A dagger, moving through the trees like a wood nymph. Dark hair, dark eyes. A melodic tone of voice that remained casual even when battling ruffians. The way she spoke to him reminded him of Lady Rhea and her odd, uncertain accent. Dark eyes - dark eyes lined with dark lashes. 

She was wearing something different tonight, something fancier than common traveling gear. She didn’t have a dagger in her hand, but she was the same person. She carried herself the same, spoke the same, sounded the same. 

He slapped the bench and broke a piece of wood, the splinters flying into the air around him. “ _That_ ’s where I know her from!”

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I love this story a lot, and I’d really love some feedback on what you think of it - anything I could do better, questions, or anything you think would be cool to see in future chapters. It really helps me out when I see feedback from you guys because it gets me excited to start on the next chapter!   
> Thank you so much!! I love you all, I hope you’re all safe and healthy <3


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